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A TALE OF 


i 


u 



The Temperance Excitement 


c. B. SPARROW. 













THE 


Bane of Bendon 

A TALE OF 

New Hampshire 


IN THE 


Days of tfye Terppenapcc Exciteirjept. 

BY 

/ y 

C. B. SPARROW. 



KNOXVILLE , TENN 

Ogden Bros. & Co., Printers and Binders. 
1885. 




long as there shall continue under the sanction of law 
and a debased sentiment a monstrous evil, which, in the 
face of civilization, of religion and of all that is dear to the 
hearthstones of a people, creates burning hells of anguish 
and unutterable woe: so long as the liquor traffic destroys* 
manhood, degrades woman, and brings poverty with all of 
its long line of wretchedness and long train of miseries upon 
its helpless victims; so long as this terrible curse, withering 
whomsoever it touches, continues to blight the budding life 
of childhood, to destroy the happiness of the fireside, to fill 
our jails with outcasts, to furnish victims for the gallows^ 
and to bring upon us as a nation the judgments of a just 
God, so long will such books as this have a mission to fulfil 
in every home andjn every heart. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. TAGE. 

1. — A Sad Death and a Strange Errand 5 

2. — The New Firm . 9 

3. — Seeking for Light • 17 

4. — Some New Developments 23 

5. — Stubborn Facts •. 30 

6. — Proposition for Marriage 38 

7. — The Opening of the Ne ^ Hotel 46 

8. — A Disappointed Suitor 52 

9. — Diamond Cut Diamond 59 

10. — More Complications 67 

11. — The Bread Upon the Waters 71 

12. — Sunbeams 76 

13. — A Visible Break 83 

1 4 — Serpent Coils 88 

15. — In the Whirlpool 96 

16. — The Bite of the Serpent 101 

17. — Christ or Belial 109 

18. — Two Pledges 116 

19. — Prohibition or Free Whisky — Which? 120 

20. — Another Election 129 

21. — Sunshine and Shadow 136 

22. — One Christmas 142 

23. — Summer Glory 146 


♦ 

































































































































CHAPTER I. 


A SAD DEATH AND A STRANGE ERRAND. 

There lies in a long, wide valley in the southeastern part 
of New Hampshire a little country village by the name of 
Bendon. Broad streets shaded on either side with large old 
elms, and snug little houses here and there of an absolete 
style give to the town an old-fashioned appearance. To the 
east of it stretches a long line of vanishing hills; on the west 
are broad fields through which a clear stream wanders flow- 
ing far southward, and beyond these is a thick wood. 

On the outskirts of the town, near the uplands, there lived, 
at the time of my story, in a small, dilapidated house, a fam- 
ily by the name of Wilson. 

Mrs. Wilson was a kind-hearted, sweet-faced woman, but 
ever bore with her a sad, depressed look; occasioned not so 
much by pinching poverty, which was everywhere visible, 
as by the dissipation of her husband. 

John Wilson, in former days, was regarded by all who 
knew him, as a hard-working and thrifty mechanic, and, as 
the phrase went. “ a model husband and an affectionate 
father.” Ere long, however, dark shadows seemed to settle 
on his home. Like many at that day he had been led to 
believe that no harm would come to him from a moderate 
use of strong drink, so he began in moderation; but the habit 
slowly grew upon him till finally he became a confirmed 
drunkard, and, as we shall see, met an untimely end. 

Late one afternoon, having passed the day with two or 
three others of like character in drinking and carousing at 
the village tavern, he started for his home in a state of beastly 
intoxication. When he reached the railroad crossing which 

A 


6 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


lay between his house and the town, he stumbled and fell, 
and being unable to rise, remained there in a drunken stupor. 

Soon the express train, which was a little behind' time, 
came rushing along to the station. The engineer, looking 
out of his cab, caught a glimpse of the unfortunate man, and 
endeavored to stop his engine, but alas, it was too late! The 
ponderous wheels came thundering along and unfeelingly m 
crushed out the life of the poor inebriate! The schrill screech 
of the whistle and the sudden stoppage of the train drew a 
large number of people to the spot. With dimmed eyes 
they gazed for a moment on the lifeless form of their neigh- 
bor, and then with tender hands, bore him to his home at the 
foot of the hills. The little children playing in the garden saw 
the approaching crowd, and with frightened looks ran and 
told their mother. Instinctively dreading some terrible dis- 
aster, she dropped her work and ran to meet them. Heart- 
rending was the scene when beholding the form of her 
husband carried by a half dozen men, she cried out in des- 
pairing, piteous tones, “Oh, John! John! has it at last come 
to this!” “ He promised me but this morning he’d drink no 
more, but now he is dead, dead!” 

Two days later a small procession wended its way through 
the streets to the cemetery, and John Wilson was laid away. 


The name of one of the bearers who assisted in the burial 
of the late John Wilson was Simon Jones, or, as he was 
frequently called, “ Inquisitive Simon.” This sobriquet was 
given him because of his unconquerable habit of asking 
strange and sometimes apparently meaningless questions. 
Everything that occurred in the neighborhood, every floating 
bit of news, excited in him a desire to know the why, the 
how, and the wherefore. If a piece of property exchanged 
hands he knew no rest till he had mastered the details of the 
transaction; if a stranger came to town, he was sure to 
inquire as to the nature of his visit, and how long he intend- 
ed to remain; if a shop-keeper gave short measure, or light 
weight, he was among the very first to detect it, and not slow 


A SAD DEATH AND A STRANGE ERRAND. 


7 


either to speak about it. Doubtless men of this type serve 
an important purpose in this world of ours ; we think of 
them as human pointers scaring up the game for others to 
shoot at, a valuable work in its way. Was there ever a com- 
munity, especially in New England, that did’nt have an in- 
quisitive Simon? 

Now, strange as it may seem, though Simon was charac- 
terized for his inquisitiveness, he was also respected for his 
real goodness of heart, which happy quality, many times 
saved him from the sharp rebuffs of those who were often 
annoyed by his impertinent questions. He was always 
touched by scenes of suffering and sorrow, and his sympa- 
thies were always on the side of the poor and neglected. 

. That was the reason why he so willingly assisted in laying in 
its last resting place the remains of his unfortunate neighbor, 
and doing all in his power to alleviate the sufferings of his 
wife and children. 

On the morning following the burial of John Wilson, 
Mrs. Jones said to her husband : “Simon, I believe I’ll go 
down and spend an hour or two with Mrs. Wilson.” 

“ That’s right, Polly,” said he, in a sympathetic way, “go 
along, for if there ever was a time when she and her children 
needed sympathy and help, it is now.” 

When Simon was left alone, he sat down with a book in 
his hand in front of a huge old fire-place, and tried to read. 
But it was of no use, he saw nothing in the pages before 
him; strange and perplexing thoughts were crowding in upon 
his brain in quick and rapid succession, and so, unconscious- 
ly, he closed the book and gazed upon the dying embers. 
There, in the changing glow of the coals, he fancied that he 
could see the long railway track, the rushing train, and even 
the body of the poor inebriate. Long these scenes flitted 
before him in all their ghastly forms, till at last, with a shiver, 
he closed his eyes that the vision might vanish away. “ The 
•liquor that caused this man’s death” he reasoned to himself, 
“ was sold in this community, and by the permit of this com- 
munity; it was also known to this same community that this 


8 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


man’s appetite was beyond his control; therefore it seems to 
me that we are all in some sense and in some degree respon- 
sible for his horrible death ” 

Now, if Simon had banished these thoughts and occupied 
his mind with his own individual cares, he would have been 
doing that which many thousands are doing under similar 
circumstances; but this would not satisfy him. He deter- 
mined at once to seek an interview with some of his neigh- 
bors and lay this whole matter before them. Foolishly 
enough no doubt he imagined that he would have no diffi- 
culty in getting them to see the consequences of this liquor 
traffic, and perhaps thought that he might induce them to 
unite with him in its suppression. He little knew the diffi- 
culties in the way, nevertheless, he rose from his seat by the 
fire, and securely fastening the door behind him, started forth 
on his errand. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE NEW FIRM. 

Andrews & Blackwell, extensive marble dealers, had done 
business together in the city of Boston for twenty-five years. 
At the end of this time Blackwell retired, and his place was 
filled by Henry Andrews. As soon as this change was 
effected the old sign which hung over the door of their place 
of business was taken down and replaced by a new and 
more expensive one, which read in golden letters, “ W. An- 
drews & Son. Marble afid Stone Dealers,” The office was 
large and commodious, and the furniture, like the sign out- 
side, was new and attractive. On the walls of the room, 
besides various colored diagrams, there hung several draw- 
ings of mansions, and business blocks, underneath each of 
which was written in a large, bold hand, a statement that the 
stone or marble used in the building was quarried from such 
a quarry, at such a time, by Andrews & Blackwell. 

The day that the new firm began business in the new 
office, Mr. Andrews would at times be quite talkative; then 
again he would remain for a half hour, or more, without 
speaking unless spoken to. During one of these silent 
moods Henry said: “Father, how do you like my selection 
of the furniture — you know you told me to make my own 
choice?” 

“ I like it very well,” replied the old gentleman, “ but I 
have just been contrasting this office with the one I opened 
on this street some twenty-six years ago. The room was not 
half the size of this, and the furniture consisted of three 
chairs, a pine table, and a second-hand book case.” 


10 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“ Were you and Mr. Blackwell *n business together then?’’' 

“ No, my partner at that time was a gentleman who came 
to the city from Vermont. He called on me one day and pro- 
posed that we should go into business together; and as an. 
inducement he offered to furnish two-thirds of the money 
needed, and also agreed to an equal division of the profits. 
I thought the matter over that night, and the next morning 
accepted his proposition. Then we went up the coast some 
forty miles and leased a quarry. However, not long after- 
wards I discovered that my partner was addicted to the use 
of strong drink, and that much of the common fund was 
expended in that way, which accounted for the fact that 
some how we were making no money, although we could 
sell all the marble we quarried. So in view of these facts I 
proposed that we should close out the business at once. To 
this he would not consent, but offered to sell out his interest 
at cost. Mr. Blackwell at that time was our foreman. He 
had lately, through his wife, come in possession of a few 
thousand dollars, and was waiting for a good opportunity to 
go in business for himself; and so -he bought out my first 
partner, and that was the beginning of the firm of Andrews 
& Blackwell/’ 

Here the conversation was interrupted by a rap at the office 
door, and there entered a tall, neatly dressed stranger, who,, 
as might be judged from his looks, was about twenty-seven 
years of age. He had a frank, open countenance, in every 
line of which honesty and good nature beamed out. Yet 
his clear blue eye had a steady, earnest look withal, and the 
fine curves of his mouth added not a little to the indications 
of strong character plainly visible even in the subtle expres- 
sions which ever and anon flitted across his face when 
engaged in earnest conversation. Gentleness and determina- 
tion were equally blended in his face. 

“ Is this the office of Andrews & Son?” he inquired in a 
strong, rich voice. 

“Yes, sir,” replied the old gentleman, wheeling his chair 
round till he faced the stranger, “ this is Andrews & Son.” 

“I have called to see you” said the stranger, “in response 
to an advertisement in yesterday’s paper, which stated that you 


THE NEW FIRM. 


•11 

wished to. employ a competent man to open a marble quarry.” 

“Yes, sir, we had such an advertisement, and several have 
applied; but as yet we have engaged no one.” 

“ Then, I am not too late, I suppose, in applying for the 
place?” 

“ Oh no, sir,” said Andrews, “come inside the railing and 
take a seat.” 

“ My name, said the young man, as he took a chair near 
the desk, “ is George Woodruff.” “ 1 have been connected 
in one way or another with the marble business nearly all my 
life, and as your advertisement requires, I can furnish you 
with references, some of which I have with me, and shall be 
pleased for you to examine.” 

At this he handed Mr. Andrews, a large unsealed envelope. 

“ With whom were you last, Mr. Woodruff ?” he asked 
laying the envelope on the desk beside him. 

‘‘For the last two years” he replied. “I have had charge 
of a marble quarry some twenty miles up the Hudson, own- 
ed by Williams & Company, of New York; you know them 
I suppose?” 

“Oh yes, 1 am well acquainted with the firm, we sold them 
several car loads of marble a short time ago.” 

“And now, Mr. Woodruff,” continued the old gentleman, 
“may I ask why you left their employ ? You may think this 
question rather impertinent at this stage, but it is necessary 
for us to use the utmost precaution in securing a man exactly 
suited to the position you are applying for. The work of 
managing the quarry was formerly done by my partner, who 
has lately retired from the business. The man who takes 
his place must be something more than a mere mechanic; he 
must have sharp business qualifications combined with 
honesty and tact for managing men — you understand?” 

“It is very right, Mr. Andrews, that you should use every 
possible precaution in your employment of a foreman, and 
I am ready also to answer your question. I wish first, how- 
ever, to state that my connection with Williams & Company 
was in many respects very pleasant, and I think that my 


12 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


reference from them will convince you that I gave satisfac- 
tion. My reason for leaving their employment was simply 
this: “when we opened the quarry all went well for a time, 
but at the close of the first year I was obliged to discharge 
one of the men for drunkness. This man a few months 
after rented a house which was the property of the Com- 
pany, and opened a saloon where many of the men gathered 
at night, and even on Sunday, and spent their money in 
drinking and carousing. I asked my employers to take some 
measures to close up this grogery, but they replied that if the 
men were promptly at their work at seven in the morning, 
and worked till six at night, it was all they cared for; and 
when they took this position, I resigned mine at the close of 
the second year.” 

“ Oh! Do you claim, Mr. Woodruff, that a Company have 
the right or power to control the temperance sentiment of 
those who are in their employ? ” 

“ W ell, sir, there are two ways of looking at that. I admit 
that according to law, every man may drink when he pleases, 
and neither you, nor I, have the legal power to prevent him; 
but, there are other laws, sir, than those found upon statute 
books. For instance, the law of self-protection; the humane 
regard for the interests of others, and many other laws which 
might be mentioned, all of which work for the well-being of 
society. An experience of many years has taught me, that 
one of the greatest, perhaps the greatest enemy, the laboring 
man has to battle with, is strong drink, therefore, I think it 
becomes the duty of the employers to remove as far as pos- 
sible the temptation from the employed. My views, I know 
will be regarded by many as very extreme, but with all due 
regard for the opinions of others, I must stand by my 
convictions.” 

“May I ask, Mr. Woodruff, how you come to have such 
positive convictions on this subject?” 

Here the stranger paused, and there stole over his face 
such an expression of sadness, that for a moment Mr. An- 
drews was sorry he had asked the question. 

“Your inquiry, sir,” he replied, “brings up a chain of 
events which I have wished a thousand times I might 


THE NEW FIRM. 


13 


forever forget, but of course that’s impossible. My father 
at one time, as I have been told, carried on successfully a 
large stone and marble business. Being thrown, as a busi- 
ness man naturally would be, in the society of those who 
drank, more or less, he thought it no harm to occasionally 
drink with them. In this way, and before he was really 
aware of it, he had formed an appetite for strong drink. As 
this appetite increased, he became more and more unfit for 
business; and, as a result, he saw melt away before him all 
the hard earnings of previous years. After his failure in 
business, he obtained employment in a quarry as a foreman, 
but soon lost that position. He then went to work as a com- 
mon laborer, and I was taken out of school to carry water 
for the men. After we had drawn our pay one Saturday 
night and were on our way home, he was persuaded by a 
fellow workman to stop at a tavern. One glass led to 
another, until he had spent not only his own wages but mine 
also. Late that night he was brought home in a drunken 
stupor from which he never awoke! And now, sir, with 
such recollections as these, you can not wonder that I am an 
avowed enemy to strong drink, and that my sympathies go 
out after those who are affected, directly or indirectly, by it.” 

This statement was made in a clear and concise manner, 
and was intently listened to by both father and son. 

“Mr. Woodruff,” said Andrews, “if you have no objec- 
tions I will retain these references for the present and look 
over them at my leisure. Come to-morrow morning at ten 
o’clock, I will then give you a definite answer.” 

To this Woodruff #cquiesced, thanked him and went out. 

The door was hardly closed when the old gentleman said 
to his son: “Henry, look in the safe in the farther left hand 
corner, and bring me an old book I put in there a few days, 
ago.” 

The son did as requested, and soon returned with a dog- 
eared book bound in parchment. 

Mr. Andrews opened it and immediately began reading — 

“ This indenture entered into this , the first day op June, 
eighteen hundred and tzventy, betzveen W . Andrezvs op the 
first part, and John Woodru ff of the second part ” 


14 


THE BANE OF BEXDON. 


“ There it is, my boy; the same name!” 

“Well, what if it is, father, what does that signify?” 

“ It signifies, to my mind,” remarked Mr. Andrews, as he 
closed the book and handed it back to his son, “ that in all 
probability that young man’s father was my first partner.' If 
his references are all right I think we had better engage 
him. What do you say?” 

“ I am of the same opinion,” replied the son. He has cer- 
tainly impressed me as being the very man we want. But 
what a strange thing that you should be a partner with the 
father, and then, after thirty years, should give employment 
to the son.” 

“ Ah, well, this is a strange world, my boy, and strange 
things are happening in it every day, the strangest of which 
is the true, strange as that may seem.” 

W hen Woodruff came out of the office he walked leisurely 
along in the direction of his hotel. He had purposed to 
return to New York that evening, but as Mr. Andrews had 
requested him to call the next day, and as he had agreed to 
do so, there was no alternative but to defer his return until 
after this second interview. 

And now, as this young man is to play quite an important 
part in this story, it is necessary that the reader should know 
something more of his history. 

Shortly after his father’s death, his mother, a refined but 
delicate woman, died of a broken heart. For years before 
her death she had taken special pains to instill into the mind 
of her child those principles which at this time were shaping 
his life and character. “ Never be induced my boy,” she 
would say time and time again, “as lon<f as you live, to drink 
the first drop of liquor; for then you can never become a 
drunkard. Right there is where the trouble came with your 
poor father. When he first commenced drinking I used to 
talk with him about it, but he only laughed and said, in his 
pleasant way, that there was no danger in his case. But 
poor man, he found to his sorrow and the sorrow of his fam- 
ily that there was. His appetite for liquor, when once formed, 
could never be broken, though I know he tried hard many 
times to conquer it. And when you grow to be a man, my 


THE NEW FIRM. 


15 


son, do all you can to crush out this awful evil; but be kind 
and helpful to those who are suffering from it. This great 
world does’nt stop to think of the misery that strong drink 
brings upon all; the lives it destroys, the homes it makes 
desolate, and the hearts it makes sad. You will be laughed 
at many times, no doubt, by some, and even hated by others, 
but as long as you live don’t be ashamed to let it be known 
that you are on the side of Temperance.” 

Blessed instruction that, and blessed was the fruit it bore. 

After the death of Woodruff’s mother, he was taken to 
the home of an uncle, a large marble dealer in Vermont. 
There he received a good education and a thorough knowl- 
edge of the business. At the age of twenty-four, and at the 
advice of his uncle, he applied for and received the position 
which he had been holding for the last two years. 

Whether or not he should now enter the employment of 
Andrews & Son remains to be seen. 

As George Woodruff was passing along the street on the 
afternoon referred to, he saw directly in front of him, and 
walking in the same direction, a young lady. As they neared 
a corner he heard the shouts of men and the rumbling of 
wheels on a street running at right angles to the one on 
which they were walking. On reaching the corner he saw 
nearly in front of him and running at break-neck speed a 
hand engine drawn by a company of firemen. “Hurry up, 
men!” shouted the foreman, “let’s be the first at the fire.” 

“Look out there, lady!” called a policeman from the op- 
posite corner, “don’t try to cross now!” 

Whether in the excitement the young lady had become 
confused, or whether she imagined that she could reach the 
opposite corner before the engine overtook her, Woodruff 
could not determine; but as she did not appear to stop, he 
saw at once that she was in great danger, and immediately 
stepping forward, laid his hand on her shoulder. 

“Excuse me, Madam,” said he, “but don’t think of cross- 
ing now.” 

“ Perhaps I had better wait,” she replied, stepping back to 
the curbing where Woodruff was standing. The waiting 


16 


THE BANE OF RENDON. 


>' r as of short duration, for in a few seconds the engine hut- 
ried by, and the busy, noisy throng moved on. 

To be alone in a great city, and in a state of expectancy, 
tends to make one restless and uncertain in his movements. 

Woodruff was in high hopes of getting the situation he 
had applied for, but as yet all was undecided. He had 
thought the matter over several times, looking at it in various 
ways, as if counting the probable chances in his favor, but 
finally concluded that as nothing had been definitely settled, 
he would think of it no more, at least for the present. 

After supper he left his hotel, and went out for a stroll. 
Up one street and down another he went, glancing care- 
lessly into the shop windows as he passed by, but spoke to no 
one nor was spoken to. After wandering about for some 
time, he came to a wide street on which were many large 
and beautiful family residences. Passing one of these homes 
he saw, through an open window, the same young lady 
whom he had met on the street a few hours before, seated at 
a piano. 

“Sing the same song you sang last night,” he heard some 
one say. To this she made some reply, but he did not catch 
the words. 

In a moment more a sweet, melodious voice, sang in softest 
tone — 


“ I shot an arrow into the air, 

It fell to earth, I knew not where; 

For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song hi to the air, 

It fell to earth, I knew not where; 

For who has sight so keen and strong, 

That it can follow the flight of song ? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 

And the song, from beginning to end, 

I found again in the heart of a friend.” 

The song was new to him, and the ladv a stranger; yet 
there was something in both that deeply impressed him. 


CHAPTER III. 

SEEKING FOR LIGHT. 

The first person that Simon Jones resolved to call upon 
was Henry HefFman, the proprietor of the village hotel. If 
this individual ever had any conscientious scruples about sell- 
ing liquor, they had long since been crowded out, for he had 
followed this line of business as a means of livlihood for over 
a quarter of a century. Some years ago his eldest son had 
fallen a victim to drink, and was now mouldering in a drunk- 
ard’s grave. His only daughter had become the wife of a 
drunkard. But after years of harrowing misery and con- 
stant dread, was at last compelled to seek again her father’s 
roof for shelter and protection. These things, instead of 
softening Heffman’s heart, served only to harden it, and he 
become, if possible, even more bitter in his denunciations 
against the few people in the community who were outspoken 
on the subject of Temperance. 

“ Why,” said he, “ If they keep on agitating this question, 
they will ruin the whole country. They are not satisfied 
with the license system, they are even clamoring for prohi- 
bition. I had rather live under a king than be domineered 
over by these wild fanatics; It has come to a pretty pass 
that a man can’t take a social glass without being proscribed 
by these fellows Why, ten years ago, old Pastor Hendricks 
used to frequently stop at my house on his way to his church 
over the mountain, and I never found him too good to take a 
glass of wine, I tell you, and sometimes, something stronger, 
when he had a long, cold ride before him; but now you 
can’t go into a church on a Sunday without running the risk 
of listening to a long temperance lecture by some fanatic or 
other.” 


18 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


As this last remark was made, a haggard looking man, some- 
what past midle life, who had been reclining on a bench in 
the farther end of the bar-room, rose up and said in a husky 
voice : “ Mr. Heffman, if I were in your place, I would’nt 

borrow any trouble about preachers or churches either, for 
that matter. For I’ll vouch its been many a long day since 
you were inside a church or had anything to do with a min- 
ister. Don’t think, landlord, that I’ve turned temperance 
reformer ; oh no, I’m too far gone for that ; I can’t reform 
myself, let alone any one else. But one thing I do know 
rum’s been my greatest enemy, and what is true of me is true 
of you.” 

“ Never you mind, Sam. Jackson,” replied Heffman, “I can 
look after my own interests without any of your advice or 
assistance. If you have made a fool of yourself by drink- 
ing too much you must’nt blame your neighbors.” 

“Well, sir, I am not blaming them, and if I were in your 
place I would’nt either. All I’ve got to say is, that you sell 
rum and I drink it, but it occurs to me that it has been a 
loosing game for both of us.” 

Then pulling his hat over his eyes he settled down in the 
corner again in a kind of half stupor. 

As this little quarrel between the rum seller and his victim 
ended, the door opened, and Simon Jones, approaching the 
landlord, said : 

“ Good morning, Mr. Heffman. I have called this morning 
to talk with you a little about the death of our neighbor 
Wilson.” 

“ Do you mean John Wilson, who was run over by the 
car? ” said Heffman in a gruff manner. 

“ Yes sir, he is the one I refer to.” 

“ Well, Mr. Jones, I want you to distinctly understand that 
he was no neighbor of mine, he hasn’t been in my house 
over two or three times, within the last month, and I told him 
only last week that I wished he'd go away and not come 
back any more.” 

“ Yes, but why did you request him to go? ” 


SEEKING FOR LIGHT. 


19 


“I requested him to leave, sir, because he was injuring my 
business. Respectable people don’t want to see my house 
filled up with lazy loafers every time they come into it.” 

“ Very true, Mr. HefFman, yet there was a time when this 
man was not a loafer, and there was also a time when he 
had money, friends, and respectability, why did you not tell 
him to leave then?” 

HefFman, knowing Simon’s ability in propounding knotty 
questions, and being in no mood for answering them, cut the 
conversation short by saying: 

“ Mr. Jones, if you have come into my house to read me a 
temperance lecture, or to blame me for the faults of others^ 
I tell you now you had better be about some other business! 
For the last few years you temperance folks have been try- 
ing to work up a prejudice among the people against us 
liquor men, and you have carried this thing so far as to drive 
some out of the business; but you won’t drive me, I tell you. 
I know what my rights are, and I’m going to defend them. 
My business is carried on under the sanction of law; my 
petition fora license was first signed by twelve free-holders; 
that petition was granted by the proper authorities appointed 
to attend to such matters; and now, sir, if you have any ob- 
jections to this, go to them, and not to me; that’s all I’ve got 
to say about it.” 

Here the landlord turned to a stranger, a guest at the hotel, 
and said in a casual way: 

“ Did you meet the gentleman you were in search of ?” 

“Yes sir,” he replied, “I had no trouble in finding him.” 

Simon, seeing that his presence was objectionable, turned 
away with a heavy heart, thinking that so far he had not 
been very successful in his undertaking. 

The next person called upon was James Bagley. This 
individual carried on a small business in the grocery line 
and also added somewhat to his annual income as an agent 
for several insurance companies. He was a diminutive crea- 
ture both mentally and physically. Very little time did he 
ever spend in weighing the moral qualities of an action. If 
he could only succeed in his undertakings he was not ex- 
cessively conscientious as to the methods employed. This 


20 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


gentleman Simon found alone, and after wishing him good 
morning, said: “ I have come to see you, Mr. Bagley, about 
the causes which led to the death of our late neighbor John 
Wilson.” 

“Oh, that’s not a difficult matter,” replied the shop-keeper. 
I understand he was killed by the wheels of the engine as he 
lay on the track.” 

“Very true, but were there not causes back of all that? Is 
it not fair to presume that, if this man had not been intox- 
icated he would not have been killed? Then again, the 
liquor which intoxicated him was sold no doubt at the village 
tavern. In the licensing of this place no protest was made 
on the part of the people, and now if this man’s death was 
occasioned by strong drink I want to know if the man who 
sold him the liquor, and the community who made no pro- 
test against the liquor being sold, are not in a certain sense 
and to a certain degree responsible for his death?” 

“Mr Jones,” replied Bagley, “your ideas are all visionary; 
mine are practical I am one of the parties who signed 
Heffman’s license, and I can’t see that I have done anything 
wrong in it. This man is a regular customer of mine, and 
does all he can to throw business in my way. When a man 
sticks to me, I stick to him, that’s been my principle all 
through life. If you temperance people did’nt make such 
a mighty fuss about something that you could’nt help, the 
world would be the better off. Men always have, and I 
guess always will, eat and drink just about what they like, 
and neither you nor I can stop them.” 

“ But, Mr. Bagley,” persisted Simon, getting a little closer, 
“you don’t seem to get hold of my idea. If a man sells for 
money that which he knows will make his customers worse, 
instead of better; that which if indulged in, will lead to 
their ruin, you have no right to uphold him simply because 
he buys his groceries at your store, or throws what business 
he can in your way. If a man were to come into this town 
and begin robbing the citizens, would you be willing to sign 
a petition giving him this right for such reasons as you have 
already mentioned? Now, from a moral standpoint, what’s 
the difference between the liquor seller, who takes advan- 


SEEKING FOR LIGHT. 


21 


tage of a depraved appetite in his customer to extort from 
him his money, and the man who takes it from another by 
brute force? In the one case money is lost, in the other 
both money and life and all that goes to make life worth 
living for.” 

Just then a customer entered the store and Mr. Bagfey 
asked to be excused. 

Simon, much depressed, turned away with mingled feel- 
ings of wrath and contempt for the small arguments of the 
small man. On reaching the street he saw, coming towards 
him, his lifelong friend, Deacon Pettibone. The Deacon, as 
he was generally called, enjoyed the confidence and respect 
of all who knew him. He had been trusted with the prop- 
erty of the widow and orphan, and his judicious counsels 
had settled many a dispute which otherwise would have 
been left to judge or jury. Such men are beacon lights in 
life’s stormy sea. When their light goes out, darkness rests 
on many a heart. 

The Deacon well knowing Simon’s peculiarities, saw at a 
glance that he was greatly agitated. 

“Why, Brother Jones, what ails you?” he said, taking him 
by the hand. “You seem greatly distressed, what’s gone 
wrong to-day?” 

“Well, sir,” he replied, “I am greatly distressed. People 
have told me that I am inclined to worry too much about 
things that I can’t help, and I am half inclined to think they 
are about right.” 

Here a pleasant smile stole over the face of the old Dea- 
con as much as to say that he was inclined to the same 
opinion. 

“Well, Simon, never mind just now about what your 
neighbors think, but tell me what distresses you.” 

Then Simon told the Deacon of the thoughts that had 
crowded in upon him as he sat before his fire at home, and 
the sophistry and rebuffs he had met with in conversing 
with his neighbors, Heffman and Bagley, and . concluded 
finally by asking the Deacon what he thought about it. 

“You have made a mistake,” he said “in having anything 
to say with these men on this subject. They have no sym- 


22 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


pathy whatever with the Temperance cause, and will do all 
in their power to oppose it. I had a long talk” he contin- 
ued “only yesterday with our minister, Elder Littleton, and 
we have agreed that about the best thing that can be ‘done 
at present is to organize at once a Temperance Society. The 
temperance people here ought to have done this long ago, btit 
somehow it has been neglected. Now the Elder has prom- 
ised to give us a Temperance lecture at any time or place 
we may select; in the meantime we can have a pledge drawn 
up, and at the close of the meeting all who feel so disposed 
can sign it. In this way we can begin our work, and I hope 
that it will not be long before the temperance sentiment in 
the community will be strong enough to put an end to this 
license system. I am not in the habit of complaining or 
finding fault with my neighbors, but when I see a whole 
community quietly submitting to the dictates of a few self- 
interested liquor men, I become indignant, and I can’t 
help it.” 

“Those are my feelings exactly,” replied Simon, “and I 
‘think that we had better go at once and see our minister and 
make some arrangement for the time and place of holding 
our first meeting.” 

“Very well,” answered the Deacon, “Perhaps we had,” 
and the two started at once to call upon Elder Littleton. 


CHAPTER IV. 


SOME NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 

As soon as the conversation between Henry HefFman and 
Simon Jones had ended, and the latter had taken his depart- 
ure, Sam Jackson rose from his seat in the corner, and 
advancing to the bar, said: “Mr. HefFman, give me a glass 
of a liquor, I want to go home.” 

The landlord turned away from the stranger with whom 
he had been conversing, stepped behind the bar and drew 
the liquor. 

This poor victim filled his glass, and with a trembling 
hand raised it to his lips and drank it. 

The debasing and blighting effects which can be pro- 
duced by a long and continued use of strong drink is vividly 
shown in the history of this individual. 

Jackson was a man whom nature had highly endowed. 
He began quite early in life the study of law, and at the age 
of thirty, had a wide reputation as an orator, and was ranked 
among the leading lawyers in that section of the State. At 
the age of forty he had acquired through his splendid tal- 
ents and sharp business tact, a respectable fortune. But 
alas! like so many of his profession, he had fallen a victim 
to strong drink and had squandered nearly all his hard earn- 
ings, until at the age of forty-five was known to the world 
as a common drunkard; and yet, strange as it may seem, this 
man, in the midst of all his wanderings, was ever affection- 
ate toward his family, generous in his dealings with others, 
and peculiarly sensitive to certain demands of truth and 
honor, which many would do well to cultivate who hardly 
know the taste of liquor. 


24 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“I say, landlord,” remarked Jackson, as he sat down his 
glass, “why did you tell Mr. Jones that John Wilson had 
not been in your house only two or three times during the 
last month?” 

‘‘Well, how do you know that he has been?” replied Heff- 
man with a peculiar look. 

“How do I know. What a strange question to ask! If 
you were called to testify, could you, on oath, state that this 
man was not in your house and drank more or less at your 
bar every day for the last month and a half prior to his 
death?” 

“Supposing that he was,” replied the landlord, “that does 
not make me responsible for his death, does it? and besides, 
I am under no obligation to furnish Simon Jones, or any 
other man, a list of the persons who come into my hotel.” 

“That may be true, landlord,” retorted Jackson, “yet no 
man has the right, under any circumstances to suppress the 
truth for the sake of making a false impression.” 

To this HefFman made no direct answer, but his broad 
face flushed slightly, which showed to the stranger standing 
by that he was not a little confused by this pointed remark. 

“Well, well, Jackson, since you are such a great stickler 
for precise statements, I wish you’d draw off my accounts 
for me, for the last month I’ve not had the time to do it 
myself.” 

At this the landlord lifted the lid of a small writing desk 
at the farther end of the bar, and took from it a large ledger. 
Jackson put it under his arm. and pulling his well-worn hat 
over his eyes again, started for home. 

The stranger who had entered the bar-room of the village 
hotel and had quietly yet intently listened to all this, was none 
other than George Woodruff. 

“Landlord,” he remarked, looking intently after Jackson,, 
“how long before the train is due going east?” 

“It is due sir, in half an hour, but you need’nt be in a 
hurry about starting; it is only a few steps to the depot. I 
will have ‘the porter carry up your valise, so that you will 
have nothing to do but to get your ticket. Here, Martin,, 
take this gentleman’s luggage to the depot.” 


SOME NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


25 


Martin, as he was called by the landlord, was a little plod- 
ding man, about fifty years of age. He was one of those 
easy, good-natured fellows who live entirely in the present, 
and whose only ambition is to drift on through life in the 
easiest possible manner. The clothes that he wore were 
second-hand, and were at least two sizes too large for him; 
he ate at the second table among the servants and never did any 
thing, if he could help it, unless told the second time. He was 
withal very talkative, and, sometimes quite comical, for which 
•characteristic he was often severely reprimanded by his em- 
ployer. 

Woodruff did not accept the landlord’s invitation to re- 
main at the hotel till the last possible moment, but paid his 
bill and started for the depot, followed by the porter. 

“I say,” said Woodruff, turning to Martin, who trudged 
along by his side, “do you know that man who left the hotel 
just before we did?” 

“Why bless you, sir, I guess I do! That man’s name is 
Jackson, and I have known him for over twenty years.” 

“Well tell me what you know about him.” 

“That, sir, would take a long time; but he is an uncommonly 
smart man; everybody says that; there is’nt a man in town 
that can get ahead of him in an argument I tell you , didn’t 
you see how quickly he used up the landlord just now?” 

“Yes,” replied Woodruff, “and that’s one of the reasons 
why I am anxious to know something more about him.” 

“Jackson,” continued Martin in his rambling manner, “was 
a big lawyer here at one time, and had lots of property, too, 
though he has’nt got much now, only that brick store down 
yonder with the big hall over it, and the house he lives in; 
and all this he has deeded to his wife, so they say. My old 
landlord did’nt like it much when he heard of it; but I was 
glad of it, for I did’nt want to see a great man like he once 
was turned out of house and home, would you?” 

“How did he make his money in the first place?” inquired 
Woodruff. 

“Oh he made that when he was a practicing law, so I 
have been told. Lawyers ain’t often very poor, you know, 
and whenever he tried a suit the old court house couldn’t 


26 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


hold the people that wanted to hear him talk to the jury; 
and bless you, sir, he could make them laugh or cry just as 
he wanted to. I can well remember when he used to drive 
through the streets in his fine carriage; and would you be- 
lieve it, that last ten cents that he gave the landlord just now 
he borrowed from me this morning! He’ll pay it back, 
though, the old fellow is as honest as the day is long, every- 
body says that.” 

By this time they had reached the depot, and Mr. Wood- 
ruff gave the porter a quarter, for which the latter made a 
profound obeisance. 

On entering the station Woodruff learned from the agent 
that the train was several minutes late, which was something 
of a disappointment to him, as he was anxious to reach Bos- 
ton as soon as possible. His anxiety, however, did not bring 
the train any nearer, and there was no alternative but to 
patiently wait. So seating himself by the window, he drew 
from his pocket a copy of the village newspaper, The Ben- 
don Times , which had been given him by the editor, whom 
he had met the day before. On opening it, he saw on the 
first page a short editorial entitled, “New Developments.” 

“The town of Bendon” began the editor, “has for many 
years been at a standstill, but we believe that a new era of 
prosperity is about to dawn upon us. The large marble 
quarry, just north of the village, at the foot of the hill, owned 
by our enterpising townsman, Mr. Judson Du Bois, has just 
been purchased by W. Andrews & Son, of Boston. This 
firm is both wealthy and enterprising, and would not have 
made this purchase did they not intend to carry on an exten- 
sive business. 

‘‘We have had the pleasure of an interview with their 
agent, Mr. George Woodruff, who is now in town looking 
after the interests of the company. His thorough business 
qualifications and gentlemanly bearing will win for him a 
host of friends. It is his purpose, as we understand, to reside 
permanently among us, and we gladly welcome him to our 
midst. 


SOME NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


27 


“ We would not forget in this connection to also state that 
Mr. Du Bois has given out the contract for the erection of a 
large and commodious hotel. The building when completed 
will be under the management of Messrs. Haines and Hen- 
son. These gentlemen are both experienced in the hotel 
business, having been for the last seven years proprietors of 
the Lampson House, in Hardford, Connecticut. In view of 
these facts, we think that we are justifiable in saying that 
Bendon will arise from her long and dreamy sleep and take 
on a new life of activity and development.” 

Mr. Woodruff had hardly concluded the reading of this 
article, when the door opened and there entered the room 
two gentlemen; the younger of the two was not far from 
twenty -eight, and was dressed in the height of fashion. A 
large gold ring glistened on his little finger as he took off 
his glove; around his neck hung a heavy gold watch chain; 
the watch he took from his pocket as he glanced at the rail- 
way clock which hung upon the wall was a gold one; the 
large handkerchief that he took from his side pocket to make 
room for his gloves, was silken and highly perfumed, and 
dexterously he used it, as with his thumb and fore finger he 
curled the small end of a heavy moustache, a strange inno- 
vation for those days. 

The second gentleman was very different from the first. 
In his general appearance he was, as one might judge, not 
far from fifty; neatly dressed, and entirely free from that 
foppishness which characterised his companion. There was 
a pale look upon his face, such as is common to those who 
are just recovering from a long illness. He carried in his 
hard a large cane, upon which he heavily leaned when walk- 
ing or standing. 

These two, after securing their tickets and learning of the 
train’s delay, and after a few remarks from the younger about 
“the cars always being behind hand when he was in a hur- 
ry,” seated themselves on a bench near the window. 

‘‘I shall be glad” remarked the elder, “when we get home, 
for I have not felt well during this trip.” 


28 


THE BANE OF BENDOX. 


“I am afraid'’ replied the other, “it was too much for you. 
But now that we have got the lease of the hotel, you will 
not have that to worry over.” 

As this conversation was made within the hearing of 
Woodruff, he surmised that the parties were none other than 
Haines and Henson, whose names had appeared with his 
own in the last issue of the Bendon Times. 

Just then several persons came into the waiting room and 
purchased tickets, and in a few minutes more the train glided 
into the station. Several passengers alighted from the cars, 
and others stepped on board; then came a signal from the 
conductor, and the train moved on. So in this world of ours, 
we are ever coming, ever going; each intent upon some 
specific object, and when that is gained we move on in search 
of another. 

As soon as Martin, the porter, had stowed away the silver 
quarter which Woodruff had given him, in his greasy old 
pocket book, and given the sleeve of his coat an extra roll, 
he, in his characteristic, strolling way, sauntered back to the 
hotel. 

“It seems to me, Martin,” said the landlord in a high-pitched 
key, “that it has taken you a deuced long time to carry that 
gentleman’s valise to the depot and get back again.” 

“I should have been back a little sooner” replied Martin, 
“but you see the gentleman got to asking me questions, and 
I could’nt hurry much and talk at the same time, you know.” 

“He could’nt have been much of gentleman, or he 
would’nt have wasted his time in talking to you, you block- 
head. I tried hard myself to get into conversation with him, 
but he barely answered my questions. Then I asked him to 
have a glass of wine, but he shook his head and said he 
never drank. I have just heard that he is coming here to 
live, but for my part I wish he’d stay away. He is one of 
those radical temperance fellows, I believe, and we have got 
enough of them here already. But, come, go along and ring 
the bell for dinner, it ought to have been rung at least ten 
minutes ago.” 


SOME NEW DEVELOPMENTS. 


29 


Then Martin released his grip from his old pocket book, 
gave his sleeves their accustomed roll, and rang out the bell 
for dinner. 

As the train rolled out from Bendon that day, Woodruff 
took his seat in the cars, and looked out the window. To 
the right, was a broad meadow wheie the cattle quietly 
grazed; beyond were fields of ripening grain, which in the 
summer breeze swayed to and fro like the waves of a rest- 
less sea; then the engine dashed through a thick wood, from 
whose shady depths the birds flew, frightened as the train 
swept on into an open valley, through which slowly flowed 
a narrow stream; but none of these things were observed by 
the traveler, for his thoughts were full of him who stood in 
the bar-room of the village tavern and said to the landlord 
there, “no man has the right, under any circumstances', to 
suppress a truth for the sake of making a false impression.” 


CHAPTER V. 


STUBBORN FACTS. 

The prediction made by the editor of the Times that the 
town of Bendon was about to awake from its long and 
dreamy sleep and take on a new life of developement and 
activity, was in the opinion of many about to be realized. 
The work on the new hotel was pushed forward with great 
rapidity ; a score, or more, of men could be seen hard at 
work every day v from morning till night in the erection of 
this building. Citizens of the awakening village as they 
passed by, would often stop apd chat with each other, discus- 
sing the plan of the structure which was rising before them, 
and the wonderful prosperity of the town. 

The work of developing the marble quarry also, was rapid- 
ly progressing. The earth, covering a portion of the marble 
bed, had been quickly removed, and a large number of blocks, 
by the aid of huge derricks, had been lifted from the bed 
where they had been lying for centuries. An office also had 
been erected for the superintendent, Mi% Woodruff; and to 
the rear of this, a long shed, under which a large number of 
workmen were busily employed with hammer and chisel pre- 
paring the blocks for shipment. The people were proud of 
this new industry, and spoke flattering words of encourage- 
ment, and in the most natural way it turned out that Wood- 
ruff, by his strict application to business and gentlemanly de- 
meanor soon won for himself a host of friends, among whom 
was Mr. DuBois, the former owner of the quarry. 

There are other events which occurred about this time that 
must not be overlooked. 


STUBBORN FACTS. 


31 


At the consultation between Deacon Pettibone, Simon 
Jones, and Elder Littleton, it was agreed that a public meet- 
ing should be called as soon as practicable ; that the Elder 
should deliver a temperance lecture, at the close of which an 
attempt should be made toward the permanent organization 
of a temperance society. It was further agreed that the 
meeting would be held in Jackson’s hall, if it could be secur- 
ed, and if not, at the church. Now, it so happened that a 
short time after this consultation, that Deacon Pettibone met 
Mr. Jackson on the street and said to him, “neighbor 
Jackson there are a few of us here in town who would like 
very much to hold a temperance meeting, could your hall be 
secured for that purpose ? I’ll become personally responsible 
for the rent.” “ Certainly sir,” he replied, “ you can have it 
at any time, only be sure and speak for it in good season. 
“When do you purpose holding your meeting, and who, 
may I ask, is to be your speaker?” “We shall hold it in 
about two weeks from to-night I think, if nothing interferes 
more than I know of at present ; the address is to be deliver- 
ed by our minister, Elder Littleton.” That’s a good arrange- 
ment, remarked Jackson, “ the Elder is not what many would 
call an eloquent speaker, but he is a man of fine sense, and 
wide information, and no doubt will give you a fine lecture.” 
“We should like very much Mr. Jackson if you would come 
that night and encourage us with your presence if nothing 
more.” 

“ Perhaps I may, he replied, though I’ll not promise positive- 
ly; there was a time when I would have responded willingly 
to such an invitation, but those days are past and gone. 
Work upon the temperance line I know ought to be done, 
though I am the last person in all the world that can give 
you any assistance.” He said this in a way which plainly 
indicated that he regarded his case a hopeless one ; that he 
was bound by the fetters of a depraved appetite and that his 
only alternative was to remain just as he was, hopelessly 
lost. 

Poor Jackson, how many thousands, and even tens of 
thousands, there are who are bound by the same chains that 
bind you, who yearn to shake them off and enjoy once more 


32 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


the blessings of freedom, but who are sinking, sinking, until 
the last ray of hope shall be forever fled, and they are en- 
shrouded in the darkness of despair ! 

When the night came for the meeting a small audience 
congregated at the hall. “Don't be discouraged at our be- 
ginning Elder,” remarked the Deacon in a low voice, as he 
sat at his side on the platform, “from present appearances 
you will not have many out to hear you, but there are two 
persons here to-night that I am especially glad to see with 
us, and that's encouraging.” 

“Who are they ?” inquired the minister. 

“One is Mr. Woodruff, who has charge of the marble 
works. It was remarked by his foreman to-day, so Simon 
Jones tells me, that he is a strong temperance man ; the other 
is Jackson the owner of this hall.” 

“Poor man,” replied the minister, “I wish he could be 
saved if it were possible ” 

“All things are possible to them that believe,” replied the 
Deacon. 

“ That’s so, brother Pettibone, but it is difficult often for 
our faith to grasp that great promise. I called at Jackson’s 
home the other day and found that his wife was terribly dis- 
tressed over his dissipation.” 

When the hour for the meeting came, the Deacon rose and 
said : 

“Ladies and Gentlemen : As you are all well aware, we 
have assembled here to-night for the purpose of holding a 
temperance meeting, and if possible, to organize a temper- 
ance society, and it seems to have fallen upon me to act in 
the capacity of chairman. At the very beginning of our 
meeting, I wish to state that I am heartily in sympathy with 
gatherings of this character. There has been a great advance- 
ment in the temperance cause since I can remember, though 
much more hard work remains yet to be done. I can re- 
member the time when liquor was kept in almost every home 
for occasional, if not for constant use ; men drank in winter 
to warm themselves, and in summer to get cool ; young men 
often drank it through excess of vigor and gayety ; and old 


STUBBORN FACTS. 


33 


# 

men drank to stimulate their decaying powers. Why I can 
remember, when I was a boy, that a question came up once 
about the location of the county seat, and will you believe it, 
it was finally decided, after much wrangling, to locate it in a 
certain spot, for the sole and simple reason, that at that place 
a wealthy man had erected a large distillery. The county seat 
is there now, but the old distillery, I am glad to say, has long 
since rotted down. I can remember too when open advocates 
of total abstinence and prohibition were few and hard to 
find, but on the other hand many of the leading men in the 
community, and among those not a few of the ministry, pub- 
licly championed the liquor traffic. I mention these facts to 
show you that the cause of tempernace is advancing, though 
its process may fye slow and extremely difficult. And now, 
ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of introducing, as 
our speaker for the evening, Mr. Littleton who will now ad- 
dress us.” 

Elder Littleton was a typical New Englander in appear- 
ance, style and general make-up ; well educated ; very posi- 
tive in his convictions, and a firm unbending believer in the 
moral laws of growth and development. He did not assume 
the role of a temperance lecturer for the notoriety it gave ; 
nor because he was requested to do so ; but tor the reason 
that he was an honest and earnest believer in temperance 
principles, and felt it to be his duty to oppose in every lawful 
way the liquor traffic. 

“ I come before you to-night ladies and gentlemen,” he be- 
gan, “to deliver & short lecture on the subject of temperance. 
Some in my audience may say that nothing new can be said 
upon this subject. In a certain sense that may be true, and 
yet the same may also be said of many other questions that 
are now engaging the attention of mankind. The fact that 
this question has been largely discussed and viewed from al- 
most every possible standpoint, does not justify any one in 
looking with indifference upon intemperance and the fright- 
ful evils it brings upon us. I stand'here to-night, friends, to 
oppose the liquor traffic, and for what seems to me to be the 
very best of reasons. All, I think, will admit, that it is the 
duty of the community, the State, and the nation, to protect 


34 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


• 

themselves as far as they are able against any and all enemies. 
Intemperance is, in my opinion the greatest enemy that this 
community has to contend with ; and what is true of this, is 
true, I believe, of every other community in the land. Here 
we build churches, and employ ministers that the people may 
have proper religious instruction ; we build school houses, 
and secure teachers that our children may be educated and 
fitted for life’s duties ; here, scores, if not hundreds, of fami- 
lies have settled and are earning a livelihood bv honest toil 
and useful industry ; but now, in the midst of this com- 
munity, a few men who for the payment of a few paltry 
dollars can secure a license which permits them to carry on 
a traffic that blights everything it touches. Since my resi- 
dence among you, I have had, at least, a limfted opportunity 
of observing some of the effects of this so-called business. 

I have seen men of wealth, made poor and wretched ; strong 
men made weak and helpless ; I have seen laboring men 
thrown out of employment and reduced to poverty and 
want ; and more than this, some instances have occurred 
where human souls have been launched into eternity, occa- 
sioned by the liquor purchased at your licensed dram shops! 

If the effect of strong drink was confined simply to those 
who drank, what a blessing it would be. But no! like some 
contagious malady, it sweeps on to others. Think of the sad 
homes and broken hearts it has made all around you! I vis- 
ited a home in this community not long ago; a home that 
once was blest not only with the comforts pf life, but with 
its luxuries also, and what did I find! To my deep sorrow I 
discovered that all this had been exchanged for poverty and 
unhappiness, occasioned by the wine cup.” 

As the speaker made this reference, Jackson turned pale 
and seemed greatly moved. The speaker saw this but made 
no further reference, but at considerable length went on to 
depict many of the evils that the liquor traffic had heaped 
upon the state and the nation. “Go where you will,” he 
said, “throughout the length and breadth of this broad land 
and you are everywhere confronted with the liquor evil and 
the misery resulting from it. Under the very shadow, in 
many instances, of your churches and schools; on the prin- 


STUBBORN FACTS. 


35 


cipal streets of every town, village, and city; and by the side 
very often of the most useful industries; on the docks, near 
the steamboat landings and railway depots; close beside tem- 
ples of justice, and under the very eaves, if possible, of legis- 
lative halls and government buildings of every kind; in fact 
everywhere throughout the land where human beings to 
any great extent pass, or congregate, may be found the liquor 
dealer carrying on his nefarious crime and sorrow-producing 
traffic. 

With these makers and venders of strong drink it is not a 
question of how many deaths they are the cause; how many 
victims they are sending to the insane asylum, or poor- 
house; how many fortunes are being squandered, or homes 
made miserable; how many wives have been made widows 
and children orphans; but the question with them is, how 
can our present power be retained and augmented, thereby 
enabling us to increase our traffic and adding to our profits? 
These men are bound together by the strong bonds of com- 
mon interests, and can make, and often do make their power 
strongly felt in municipal, state, and even national contests. 
Our leading statesmen recognize these evils, but feel them- 
selves powerless to overcome them.” 

The speaker continued in a very vivid manner to portray 
a contest which in his opinion would yet take place in this 
country between the liquor dealers and their friends on the 
one side, and the advocates of temperance and prohibition 
on the other. In this struggle for temperance, he argued, 
there is no intermediate ground, no compromise possible; 
if the liquor traffic is right, (and who will admit that it is?) 
it should have the sanction of law, and the moral support of 
all good people; if it is wrong, then all good people must 
combine, and by the aid of law and moral sentiment seek 
its overthrow. And when this final conflict comes, though 
you and I will not live to see it, this nation will heave and 
shake like a huge mountain in the throes of a mighty earth- 
quake. 

“And now,” he continued, “having spoken at considera- 
ble length upon the liquor traffic and some of its evils, let us 
next inquire how this temperance reformation is to be brought 


36 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


about “ There are those ” he said, “ who, while they re- 
cognize the ills we bear, show no disposition to cast them 
off. As for myself I am not willing to be classed with that 
number.” 

“No, nor I, either,” exclaimed Simon Jones from the audi- 
ence. 

“There has been for centuries,” said the lecturer, rather 
pleased with Simon’s enthusiasm, “a gradual and upward 
movement of civilzation. It has grappled with and over- 
come many evils, and I believe that with Divine help, we 
will yet overcome this, the greatest of all. In this conflict 
we must bring to bear every possible agency — the press must 
be employed; the Church universal must become thoroughly 
aroused to a sense of her duties and responsibilities; her min- 
istry must positively array themselves on the side of Tem- 
perance, and speak out boldly against intemperance; then 
again the whole body politic must be lifted by a constant 
flood of light and information, to a higher plane of thinking 
and action. Each generation, as it comes upon the stage of 
action, must be early taught to take up this Temperance ban- 
ner and bear it on to victory. And so, with law upon the 
one hand, and a high moral sentiment upon*the other, this 
evil, which to-day is destroying more lives than war, pesti- 
lence, and famine combined, will at last, through God’s help, 
be overcome. 

“And now, friends, let you and I resolve at once to throw 
the whole weight of our moral influence on the side of right 
and temperance. There are the best of reasons why we 
should do this. There are I believe among the vast number 
of the fallen, very many who would like to become temper- 
ate once more, and would make the effort if they were only 
sure that some friendly hand would be extended to help 
them. Think, too, of the vast number of innocent persons 
who are suffering to-night from this traffic! Their prayers 
and tears and groans, are constantly going up to God for 
help; and when I think of this long perpetual wail, I am led 
to cry out, ‘how long, oh Lord, how long, how long!’ Then 
again we ought to do this for our own protection. The 
homes of these fathers and mothers may be safe to-night; 


STUBBORN FACTS. 


37 


but this is no positive guarantee for the future. Other homes, 
as bright as yours, have been made desolate, and other chil- 
dren, as promising as yours, have fallen before this awful en- 
emy. And if there is one in this audience who has fallen a victim 
to the wine cup, let me say to you, rise in your manhood and 
assert your rights by drinking no more; others have reformed, 
so can you. Appetite is strong, I know, but the human will 
when properly assisted may become stronger. 

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I shall close this address 
by stating that we propose to organize here to-night a Tem- 
perance society. In this petition, which I have before me, 
and which I purpose to sign, we pledge to abstain from the 
use of intoxicating liquors as a beverage, and to do all in our 
power to induce others to do the same. As members of this 
society we will meet together regularly once every month, 
and it will also be our duty to visit the homes of the dis- 
tressed and destitute, and especially those that have been 
made so through intemperance. We shall endeavor in every 
possible way to educafe the public mind up to a point where 
they will unite with us in demanding a strong prohibitory 
law, and where a man will be arrested as quickly for selling 
liquor without a license, as he would be for theft, or felony. 

“Thanking you, ladies and gentlemen, for your presence 
and attention, I will now conclude, so that we may have am- 
ple time for any and all who wish to come forward and sign 
this pledge and become members of this society.” 

About thirty of those who were present enrolled them- 
selves, and among them was George Woodruff. 

As several were gathered around the stand near the speaker, 
Samuel Jackson rose from his seat, at the farther end of the 
hall, advanced a few paces up the aisle and halted, then he 
stood tor a moment, as though lost in deep meditation, and 
finally, turning quickly, went out of the room. 

C 


CHAPTER VI. 


PROPOSITION FOR MARRIAGE. 

Judson Du Bois was by far the wealthiest man in Bendon, 
not that he was always rich, for when he began business on 
his own account he was very poor, but by industry and fore- 
sight he had constantly added to his income until he had 
reached his present position of affluence and wealth. Many 
wondered at the rapidity with which he accumulated his 
fortune, but the secret lay in the fact that he bent all his 
energies in that direction; he mingled but little in the society 
of the fashionable world, and as for taking a holiday, or 
going off on a summer excursion, that was not to be thought 
of. To know how to invest his money so that it would yield 
the best possible income, was to him the all absorbing ques- 
tion. He owned a majority of the stock in the village bank, 
which was called “Du Bois’ Bank;” several large farms also 
belonged to him, to say nothing of the mortgages he held on 
lands throughout the county. The house in which he lived 
was large and elegant, and furnished in the most costly man- 
ner. His family consisted of his wife and a daughter, Emily, 
a beautiful young lady of eighteen. 

About the time that the events recorded in the previous 
chapter occurred, Miss Emily was finishing her education in 
a school for young ladies at Boston. Mrs. Du Bois, like her 
husband, loved wealth, but her love was inspired by another 
motive. Being naturally fond of display, she loved it for 
the power and position it gave her; she yearned to give 
parties and to attend them; to move in the society of the 
fashionable world; to willingly, and even eagerly concede 
to the demands that said society might place upon her, occu- 
pied a prominent place in her thoughts and a considerable 


PROPOSITION FOR MARRIAGE. 


39 


portion of her time. There was one fact, however, which 
Mrs. Du Bois fancied was quite a drawback to her happi- 
ness; these things which she loved so passionately had no 
attraction for her husband, and even Emily, who greatly 
favored her father both in looks and disposition, did notenter 
into the routine of pleasure-seeking with that zest that young 
ladies generally do who are reared amid such surroundings. 

One afternoon as Mr. Du Bois left his office and entered 
the* bank for the purpose of making the usual deposit of 
funds which he had received during the day, his cashier, Mr. 
Renfrew, said to him, “I am glad, Mr. Du Bois, that you 
have come, I was just going to send for you.” 

“What’s the matter, Renfrew, is anything serious about to 
happen?” said Du Bois, rather quickly. 

“That, sir,” replied the cashier, “is for you to determine 
You know that several months ago this bank loaned to Wal- 
ter Goodwin a certain sum of money; when the note fell due 
he asked to have it renewed, which we did; the second note 
is due to-day and it is now near four o’clock.” 

“Who endorsed this last note?” enquired Mr. Du Bois. 

“His father, sir,” said the cashier, showing the note with 
the aforesaid father’s signature attached. 

“Then, that makes it perfectly good I believe. The old 
gentleman has plenty of means, though he is a little slow 
sometimes in his business matters. If the note is not paid 
to-day it no doubt will be to-morrow.” 

“That may be so,” replied the cashier, “but I don’t ex- 
actly like this way of doing business. A young man who 
claims to be doing the largest mercantile business in the 
county, and who keeps a horse and carriage for his own 
pleasure and lives in the finest style ought to be a little more 
prompt in meeting his business engagements I think.” 

Mr. Du Bois was about to reply to this when the door 
opened, and Walter Goodwin and his father entered. 

Young Goodwin was about twenty-seven years of age, 
tall, and exceedingly well formed. His keen but large eyes 
matched in color his glossy black hair, and his finely-chiseled 
features, which by their delicate outline indicated a love for 
that which was soft and luxurious, would have excited ad- 


40 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


miration, were it not for the almost total absence of those 
strong lines and subtle but fleeting expressions of determina- 
tion and energy so conspicuous at times in the faoes of men 
who grandly succeed even und^r depressing circumstances. 

“We are not too late for business, I hope,” remarked 
Walter to the cashier. 

“Oh no,” replied Mr. Renfrew, in a very affable manner, 
“it is several minutes yet before closing time.” 

“Don't think” continued young Goodwin, “that I had any 
idea of allowing my note to go to protest; I have been de- 
layed a little in making some of my collections, else I would 
have taken it up before.” 

“And now” interposed the elder Goodwin in a jesting 
manner, “since you have made your collections, I hope that 
it will be some time before you’l ask me to go on your paper 
again. Young men ain't brought up now like they were 
when Mr. Du Bois and I were boys; if we got a dollar then 
we had to earn it, but now when they want money they are 
pretty sure to turn to the old folks for help. Ain’t that so, 
Mr. Du Bois?” 

“That may be true in part,” replied Mr. Du Bois, “but 
there were times when you and I started out that if we had 
had a little help it would have been gladly received.” 

“Well, well, that’s true, neighbor Du Bois, and I suppose 
that it’s our duty to help the boys, even though we hadn’t 
any one to help us.” 

Then the money was paid and the note taken up, and all 
parties seemed pleased and satisfied. 

Quite late that afternoon Mr. Du Bois entered his elegant 
library, and seated in a large easy chair, leisurely perused 
his daily paper. On either side of the room were long 
shelves filled with beautifully bound books of various sizes; 
on the wall, at the farther end of the room, was a large steel 
engraving of Shakespeare by Hadley, and near the door, on 
the opposite side, was another of Daniel Webster, who was 
then, as now, the pride and glory of New England. 

About this time Mrs. Du Bois’ carriage drove up to the 
gate, and that estimable lady alighting in a hurried manner, 
entered the house. 


PROPOSITION FOR MARRIAGE. 


41 


“Has Mr. Du Bois returned from his office?” she inquired 
of one of the domestics. 

“Yes, mam, he has just finished his supper and is now in 
the library. 

“Well, mother,” said Du Bois to his wife as she entered 
the room and seated herself beside him, “You look charm- 
ing; where have you been to-day? Have you had a pleasant 
time?” 

‘‘Now, Judson, I am glad that we are alone, for I don’t 
want you to call me ‘mother’ in company; think how it 
'would sound to hear Mr. Myrtle, or Mr. Shaw, or Mr. John- 
son, say to their wives come mother , dinner is ready; come 
mother , let us go home; come mother , do this, come mother , 
do that?” 

When she had said this, in her own exalted way, Mr. Du 
Bois burst out in a fit of laughter; then tossing his paper on 
the table, said in a reconciling tone: 

“Well, well, my dear, I'll try to obey orders in company, 
but when we are at home, I shall reserve the right to call 
you mother, if I wish to; but come, you havn’t told me where 
you were this afternoon.” 

“Oh my!” continued his wife, “I am so tired that I hardly 
know what to do; I started out to-day with the intention of 
making at least eight or ten calls, and would you believe it, 
I have made only three.” g 

“You ought to be a little more particular mother,” said the 
husband in his humorous way, “Fashionable calls, I have been 
told, are never lengthy.” 

“That’s true, Judson, but Mrs. Shaw and I got to chatting 
so very pleasantly that a full hour and a half passed before I 
was really aware of it. I might have made one or two calls 
more, but on passing the post-office I sent Jerry in to inquire 
for the mail, and he returned with a letter from Emily.” 

“At the mentioning of Emily’s name all look of playful- 
ness on Mr. Du Bois’ face instantly changed to one of deep 
thoughtfulness. 

“What does she have to say? She is well. I hope.” 

“Oh yes, she is quite well, but, poor girl, she feels a little 
lonely, I guess, from the way she writes.” 


42 


THE BANK OF BENDON. 


“I do not see why she should,” remarked the husband, 
“her school days are nearly over, and I am sure that we will 
do all we can to make it pleasant for her when she comes 
home again.” 

“Very true, Judson, but there is something else that is 
weighing quite heavily ou her mind just now. Walter Good- 
win has written her, renewing his proposition for her hand 
in marriage.” 

“Can that be so! exclaimed Mr. Du Bois, as he started up 
a little. I thought I had put an end to all that , when Emily 
was home last summer.” 

“Oh no, husband, you simply delayed matters; you did’nt 
settle anything. But here, read for yourself; Emily, with her 
own letter, has forwarded Mr. Goodwin’s also.” 

Mr. Du Bois drew his chair near the window, for it was 
now growing dark, opened his daughter’s letter and in a 
tone just loud enough for his wife to understand, beganread- 
ing it— 

Boston, Mass.., June 17TH, 1S — . 

“ Dear Papa and Ma?nma: 

“I am glad to inform you that I am quite well, though 
“I must confess that, to-night, for some reason, I feel quite 
“lonely. My school days are virtually at an end, for to-day 
“I went to recitation for the last time. There was not much 
“reciting, however, as our teacher occupied nearly the whole 
“hour in giving us good advice, and when she spoke of the 
“pleasant associations we have had for the last four years, 
“and of the separation now about to take place, many of us 
“perhaps never meeting again, she became very much af- 
fected, and would you believe it, the whole class began 
“crying. Think of ten young ladies, all of whom had been 
“anxiously looking forward to the time when they would 
“leave this old building and never come back again, crying 
“as if their hearts would break, now that that long looked for 
“time bad come! 

“The letter which I received from Mr. Goodwin, I enclose 
“with my own. To-morrow I will write you again, telling 


PROPOSITION FOR MARRIAGE. 


43 


“you at what time I shall leave Boston for home. You don’t 
“know how anxious I am to see you all once more. Good by* 
“Your affectionate daughter, 

“Emily.” 

“Dear girl!” said the father, “she is worth her weight in 
gold. But let us hear what Mr. Goodwin has to say. 

Then he opened the letter, and in the same low tone began 
reading — 

“Bendon, June 4th, 18 — . 

“ Miss Emily Du Bois: 

“ My Dear Friend : — It has been on my mind to 
“write you, for some time, but I have delayed until now. 
“Last summer, as you know, I made to you a proposition of 
“marriage; but at the request of your father, the whole mat- 
“ter was dropped until after you had finished your education. 
“Now that you are about to graduate, I take the liberty of 
“renewing my suit. There are many things in my heart that 
‘*1 would like to write, if I really knew that you cared to 
“know them. You and I have known each other from child- 
“hood, and during all these years I have had an ardent love 
“for you, though it was not until last summer that I summoned 
“courage enough to tell you of it. May I hope to find a 
“response to this attachment? Think the matter over, my 
“dear friend, and when you return home I hope to have the 
“pleasure of an interview with you, and, if I find that my 
“love has been reciprocated and that you are willing to unite 
“your destiny with mine, I shall consider myself the happiest 
“of mortals. 


“Affectionately yours, 

“Walter Goodwin.” 

When Mr. Du Bois finished the letter he folded it and laid 
it on the table beside him and remained silent fully a minute; 
then glancing to his wife, said: 

“This subject is a grave one, and I hardly know what to 
think or say. What’s your opinion, mother?” 


44 


THE BANE OF BEXDOX. 


“My mind’' replied Mrs. Du Bois, “is just as it was a year 
ago. You know I told you then that in my opinion Emily 
could’nt marry a man that was better suited to her than Wal- 
ter Goodwin.” 

“Why do you think so?” interposed her husband, speaking 
each word in a provokingly deliberate manner. 

“Well, I will tell you why. In the first place, we have 
known this young man all his life; in the second place, he is 
of a wealthy family, and, as I suppose, a good business man. 
Then, again, he is a perfect gentleman, and moves in the 
most refined society, and that would enable Emily to retain 
the position she is so well fitted for. 

“And now, Judson, as I have given you my views on the 
subject, I should like to know how far yours coincide with 
mine.” 

“ I am afraid, mother, $*hat we shall not see things in ex- 
actly the same light. It is true that, we have known this 
young man from childhood, but this is no positive guarantee 
that he would make such a husband as Emily is worthy of. 
1 am aware that he is of a wealthy family, but so far he has 
not shown much tact in the management of his own busi- 
ness. And, as for his moving in what is termed refined 
society, that , in my judgment, amounts to but little; I never 
could see much of anything in it, and I don't believe there 
is.” 

“ But, Judson,” interposed Mrs. Du Bois in her quick, nerv- 
ous way, “ Would you have Emily reject this young man if 
she loves him, simply because he does not come up to your 
ideal in every particular?” 

“There, my dear,” replied the husband, “ is the critical 
point in the case. I would rather lose all that I have in the 
world, and spend the rest of my days in poverty, than do, 
anything that would make my child unhappy. Walter Good- 
win would not be my chice of a son-in-law, but if Emily 
determines to marry him, I shall then make no objections.” 

By this time it had grown quite dark in the library where 
they sat, and Mrs. Du Bois asked to be excused, as she had 
not yet eaten her supper, and without any further reference 
to the subject left the room. 


PROPOSITION FOR MARRIAGE. 


45 


When Mr. Du Bois found himself alone he rose from his 
seat and paced up and down the room with his hands behind 
him for several minutes in a profound study, and at last ex- 
claimed in the same low tone in which he had read the letter, 
“ Poor Emily, poor Emily! I am afraid this man is not worthy 
of you; but what can I do?” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOTEL. 

The hurry and bustle which had characterized the town 
of Bendon for the last few months, had partially subsided. 
The occasion of this lull was a heavy rain-storm which was 
sweeping over all that section of country, and had put a stop 
to all outdoor work. The sky was dark and lowering, the 
rain drops ran from the eaves of the houses and from the 
limbs of the trees, and fell in torrents in the streets, filling the 
gutters and overflowing the side-walks. Above, around, here, 
there, everywhere, was rain, rain, nothing but rain. Few 
people were seen upon the streets, and even those who ven- 
tured out, hurried along with hasty steps, anxious to escape 
the clammy dampness which settled down upon all things, 
enveloping them as with a shroud. 

The men at the marble quarry, being unable to work, had 
taken shelter under a long, narrow shed, where they were 
whiling the time away, as laborers generally do under such 
circumstances, by laughing and talking and telling of anec- 
dotes, a fund of which every one seemed to possess. The storm* 
however, brought no rest to Woodruff, who was hard at 
work in his office near by. Accounts had to be carefully 
kept; correspondence answered; and work laid out for the 
future. Orders for marble were constantly crowding in upon 
him, and his energies were severely taxed to keep the supply 
equal to the demand. 

“ I Say, boys,” said one of the men who was seated on a 
block of marble and puffing away vigorously at a short- 
stemmed pipe, u I say, I have heard that Du Bois’ hotel is to 
be opened to-night, and that everybody is invited. Suppose 
we all go down after supper and join in the crowd, boys. 


THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOTEL. 


47 


what d’ye say? We are not obliged to drink anything un- 
less we want to; I am getting tired of sitting around doing 
nothing and listening to the rain all day long.” 

Some of the men were in favor of going; others were 
opposed to it; while the rest were undecided as to whether 
they would venture out or remain at home. 

“ I’ll tell you what,” said one of the undecided ones, “ let’s 
find out what our foreman, Jim Murphy, thinks about it. 

. What do you say, boys?” 

“ Agreed,” cried some twenty voices at once. 

Murphy was a tall, heavy-built man, not far from forty, 
and, as his name might indicate, was by birth an Irishman. 

“ Well boys,” said James, in his broad, Irish brogue, “if 
it’s my opinion ye want about going to the opening to-night 
I can soon give it ye, but I want first to tell ye a bit of a 
story, and it’s a true one, at that.” 

“ Let’s hear it,” said the man with the short pipe. 

“There was a man once,” he began, “who came over to 
this country from old Ireland, and he brought with him his 
wife and his two children. As soon as he got on shore he 
found a job of work and good pay, but with all this, boys, 
he did’nt get along very well. His children, poor things, 
most of the time did’nt have clothes dacent enough to go to 
the church on a Sunday, and his wife, poor woman, was 
often obliged to go out and work for her neighbors, to help 
pay the rent. Some told him that the trouble was with the 
man he was working for, but he knew that was’nt it. Others 
told him that the trouble was with the government, and that 
if he would only vote for the other party, he would have lots 
of money and aisy times. And so he tried that, but the aisy 
times did’nt come, nor the money ayther. His children kept 
ragged just the same, and his wife had to work as hard as 
ever. 

“ And now, boys, what donyoii think was the cause of this 
man’s trouble! Well, I’ll tell ye; it was’nt the man he was 
working for; no; nor the government ayther, but it was that 
old enemy, bad ’cess to it, that would like to make beggars 
of us all — strong drink! This man had to have a glass in the 
morning before he went to work; and at dinner a pot of ale, 


48 


THE BANE OF BEXDOX. 


and at night, why, there was no end to the drinking. Well, 
at last he lost his place, and it was hard work to get another. 
And so it was that one day while he was out ©f work his 
wife said to him, ‘James, there is nothing in the house, to ate 
for dinner, and what will the children do?’ 

“Well, James went down to a saloon that was kept by a 
countryman of his, and where he had spent lots of money, 
‘and asked the saloon-keeper to loan him half a dollar for a 
few days, and would you believe it, the man would'nt give 
him a cint, but told him to go along and earn his money, and 
then he would know how he come by it! Well, as he went 
out into the street again, he met a kind man who was a fore- 
man in a quarry near the one he had been discharged from, 
and he just stepped up to him and told him that he wanted 
help, and the man helped him right away. And they talked 
together of how foolish and sinful it was for a man to spend 
his hard earnings for liquor and to keep himself and family 
in poverty and want at the same time. And would you 
believe it, boys, that man promised then and there that he 
would drink no more liquor, and he has kept his pledge to 
this day . 

“ And now, if any of you would like to know who that 
man was, it was no one but myself, James Murphy, and if 
any of you would like to know who the man was that helped 
me, it was Mr. Woodruff yonder, who is hard at work in 
the office. 

“ And now, boys, after all this, do you think I had better 
stay at home to-night, or go to the hotel opening?” 

“ Stay at home,” cried nearly a half dozen voices at once. 

“Well, that’s what I think, a^id I believe that you had bet- 
ter do the same, every one of you. But if you have any 
doubts upon it, let’s call Mr. Woodruff and get his opinion.” 

This “ bit of a story,” as Murphy termed it, seemed to 
have awakened in the minds of the men a desire to hear 
more upon the subject under ctmsideration, and Mr. Wood- 
ruff was asked to give his opinion. 

“ It’s my opinion, men,” said he, “ that when night comes 
we had better go to our homes, and leave hotel openings to 
some one else.” 


THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOTEL. 


49 


“ But don’t we need hotels?” asked one of the crowd. 

“Yes, but we don’t need the bar-rooms that are attached 
to them. If you go to this opening to-night you will of 
course be invited to drink; if you refuse, it will be thought 
mean, and if you do drink, it will certainly do you harm. I 
don’t want to give you bad advice, but you and I know that 
strong drink is a great enemy to the laboring man; and that 
the best thing we can do, is to do without it. It never seemed 
to me sensible or right, for a man to work hard all day and 
then, at night, give a part of his wages to the liquor seller 
for something that can do him no good. These men that 
sell liquor will claim to be great friends of the laboring man, 
and they will be glad for you to patronize them , but when 
your money is gone, they will have no more use for you. 
They would take your hard earnings, many of them, even 
though they knew your families were wanting bread!” 

“ Indade, they would,” responded Murphy. 

“Yes, but where will we spend our evenings,” asked 
another or the crowd; “people can’t stay at home all the 
time, can they?” 

‘‘No,” replied the superintendent, “they can’t, but I’ll tell 
you what we can do, — as soon as the weather settles, and we 
get a little over our hurry, we can go down town and rent a 
room and have it furnished, and no one shall control it but 
yourselves; and there you can go and spend your leisure 
hours in chatting and reading. In that way you can be 
independent af the liquor seller and his bar-room, too.” 

This proposition met with a hearty approval from most of 
the men, but there were some who did not seem to fall in 
with it very readily. 

The night closed in dark and dreary, with the rain still 
falling, making the darkness darker and the dreariness 
drearier still. The new hotel under the management of 
Haines & Henson, however, was brilliantly illuminated. 
The sharp contrast was peculiar. The light peered out 
through the windows into the thick blackness of the night, 
and broke into various fantastic reflections on the falling rain 
drops, thus giving to the place a weird and even startling 
appearance. 


50 


THE BANE OF BEXDON. 


At an early hour, despite the rain, persons began dropping 
in, and by nine o’clock the bar and sitting-room were densely 
crowded. Some were drawn there by a love for such scenes, 
others by mere curiosity. Behind the bar stood Henson, 
with a broad smile upon his flushed face, handling the 
glasses and decanters in the most dexterous manner. He was 
still dressed in the same flashy style as when first introduced 
to the reader at the railway station. The senior partner, Mr. 
Haynes, w r as also endeavoring to play well his part on this 
auspicious occasion. Leaning heavily upon his cane, he 
moved round among the company chatting with this one, 
and that; and occasionally drinking for the encouragement 
of others. 

By ten o’clock the scene became revolting in the extreme; 
men half crazed by alcohol would crowd up to the bar, and 
drink, and then fall back to make room for others w T ho 
crowded in to take their place; dense clouds of tobacco 
smoke made the lights appear low and dingy; thick fumes of 
liquor gave the atmosphere a sickening odor, while shout- 
ings, cursings and laughings of delirious men made up a 
scene which rivaled, if it did not surpass, the wild Baccha- 
nalian orgies of heathenism. 

Alone, in the parlor across from the main hallway, sat 
Henson’s sister, the wife of Haines. While all in the house 
seemed to be filled with hilarity and mirth, she alone wore a 
sad, depressed look. Presently the door opened, and her 
husband coming into the room, said, as he seated himself be- 
side her: 

“Well, my dear, I told you we would have a crowd to- 
night, even though it did rain, and sure enough the house is 
full. There’s the jolliest lot of fellows you ever saw. This 
opening is going to cost us something, I guess, but we’ll 
make up for it by and by.” 

‘‘ Robert,” said the woman, giving her husband an anxious, 
nervous look, “you have been drinking again, and I know 
it. I did’nt w r ant to come to this hotel, for I knew just how 
it would be; but you promised me over and over again, that 
you would’nt drink a drop, and now you have broken your 
promise the very first night!” “ Think, husband, she con- 


THE OPENING OF THE NEW HOTEL. 51 

tinued, in pleading tones, “ of those terrible spells you used 
to have in Hardford; you know the doctor told you that if 
you did’nt quit drinking it would surely kill you, and I know 
it must.” 

“ There, there, my dear,” replied Haynes, “ don’t get agi- 
tated now, you are nervous to-night, and I don’t wonder at 
it; everything here is strange, but, then, you’ll feel at home 
in a day or two.” 

“ I know that everything is strange to me, but I could get 
along with that, if you would only quit drinking.” 

“ Well, yes, I know I have been drinking a little, but then, 
a glass or two won’t do any harm; this is our opening n ight, 
you know, and of course I must be sociable with the people. 
And now,” said the husband, as he rose to leave the parlor, 
“you get good-natured and lively again, won’t you ? “I’ll 
come back as soon as the crowd leaves, and then we’ll go 
to our room.” 

When Mrs. Haines was left alone again she seated her- 
self by the window and looked out into the dark, dreary 
night. Almost in front ot her was a street lamp, from the 
light of which she could see the rain as it fell upon the street 
and ran along the gutters by the curbing. Suddenly, as she 
sat gazing there, the rain-drops seemed red, like blood; every 
rain-drop was a drop of blood, led, and very bloody in the 
dashing light of the lamp. Startled at this ghastly sight, 
she turned from the window; but again when she looked, 
for she could not help it, the vision appeared even more real, 
and more ghastly than before. Was this a mere hallucina- 
tion of a fevered brain, or an omen of some approaching 
calamity? She shuddered convulsively at her own thoughts, # 
and with a groan, buried her face in her hands. And the rain 
pattered against the window pane and fell as drops of blood, 
red and very bloody in the flickering light of the lamp. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A DISAPPOINTED SUITOR. 

The few remaining days of Miss Emily Dubois’ school 
life passed quickly by, and after an affectionate, but hasty 
farewell, she stepped on the train and returned again to the 
home of her childhood. She had now developed from a 
mere school-girl of sixteen into a tall, beautiful and accom- 
plished young lady of twenty. Her return was a great source 
of consolation and joy to her parents, especially to her father. 
A large share of the affection of his strong nature had gone 
out and twined itself in vital folds around the life of his only 
child, which, indeed, was not to be wondered at, for, as we 
have already stated, she greatly resembled him, both in looks 
and in disposition, and between the two there had always ex- 
isted that inexpressible, indefinable love which ever springs 
up between kindred spirits, and in a more special manner 
among those of the same household. 

“Emily, said Mrs. Du Bois, shortly after her daughter’s re- 
turn, “I met Walter Goodwin, yesterday, and lie asked if it 
would be agreeble for him to call at three this afternoon.” 

“And what did you tell him, mamma?” 

“ I replied, Certainly, we were always ready to welcome 
him.” 

“ I don’t want to be disrespectful,” replied the daughter, in 
a grave, thoughtful manner, “ but really I wish he wouldn’t 
come.” 

“ Why, Emily,” said the mother, hastily interrupting her,, 
“how strangely you talk. You know that in his letter, 
which you sent us, he showed, I think, a very strong attach- 
ment for you.” 


A DISAPPOINTED SUITOR. 


53 


“Yes, perhaps he did, and that’s the very reason why I 
should prefer not seeing him. If he would call as a friend, 
simply, just as he used to, and nothing more, I would gladly, 
welcome him, but as I think he has intentions beyond this, I 
would much rather he would remain away. You know, 
mamma,” she continued, “I have been away from home now 
nearly all the time, for four years, and to think of entering 
into any engagement that might take me away from you and 
papa again makes me unhappy.” 

These words were uttered in such a plaintive manner that 
the mother’s heart was touched, and throwing her arms 
around the neck of her child, passionately kissed her, saying 
“ There, there, my precious one, no one wants to get rid of 
you. You and Walter are both young, and he can well 
afford to wait a half dozen years to win such a jewel as you 
are.” 

Promptly at the time appointed, Walter Goodwin called, 
and was shown into the parlor. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Goodwin? ” said Miss Emily, as she 
rose and extended to him her hand. 

“ I am very well, thank you — and you, too? — you are look- 
ing well.” 

“ Oh, yes, I am quite well,” she replied, “ and am also real 
glad to return home once more.” 

“ Not more so, I am sure,” said he “ than others are to see 
you back.” 

They had both taken seats, and were engaged in the little 
gossip of the village for several minutes, when glancing at 
the other side of the room, Goodwin saw, on an easel, a large 
portrait in oil. As his eyes fell upon it, they seemed trans- 
fixed; the color came and went in his face, and, perhaps, it 
also did in the face of the young lady. 

“Why, Miss Emily, when did you have that painted? I * 
never saw anything more natural and life-like!” Again he 
looked at the portrait, and again the color came and went 
upon his handsome face. 

“ It was finished just before I graduated,” she replied. “I 
shouldn’t have thought of this picture, but papa wanted it 
and I had it done to please him. ^ 


54 


THE BANE OF BENDON, 


The town has changed considerably, I understand, since I 
was at home a year ago,” remarked the young lady, as though 
she was anxious to turn the conversation. 

“ Yes, there has been a good deal of improvements of late.” 
said he, still looking at the portrait, “ and if it will only con- 
tinue, Bendon may develop into something of a town, after 
all — and by the way, Miss Emily, how would you enjoy go- 
ing out for a drive to morrow afternoon. You could then 
form a better idea ot the changes that have taken place in 
your absence.” 

“ Thank you, I would be very willing to go,'but I have 
promised mamma to go out with her.’ 

“Oh, well, she will' excuse you, I think, if you desire it. 
You may not remember it, but it will be just one year to- 
morrow since we took our last drive together.” 

“Oh, yes! I remember, that was the time a party of us 
drove out to Cavton’s Grove, and we came so near being 
overtaken in a storm, and I got so terribly nervous over your 
fast driving.” 

“ I have no recollection of your being nervous,” he an- 
swered, “but perhaps it was because of something else that 
occurred on that trip. It was while we were taking that 
drive, if you remember, that I proposed to you. I told you 
then that I loved you, and though nearly a year has passed 
since, Emily, I find that my love is, if possible, stronger than 
ever. It was this that impelled me to write to you a few 
weeks ago, though I had but little hopes that you would an- 
swer it.” 

During this ’part of the conversation Miss Emily sat quiet 
and pale, with her eyes sometimes on Goodwin and some- 
times on the picture. 

“ When I received your letter,” she replied, I did not fail 
to answer it through any disrespect, but you know I promis- 
ed papa that I would not correspond with any gentleman 
while at school, and of course I could not break my promise. 
I have thought over the contents of your letter a good 
deal since I received it, but, to be candid, Walter — and 
I think we ought to be candid with each other — I have never 
been able to get the consent of my mind that it would be 


A DISAPPOINTED SUITOR. 


55 


best for you and me to enter into anything like a marriage 
engagement. We can be the same old friends that we have 
always been, and let us be contented with that.” 

These statements were made in such a mild yet positive 
manner, that Goodwin could not become offended on the 
one hand, nor yet very hopeful on the other. 

“ Well, Emily,” he replied, “ if that is your mind, of course 
I have only one alternative, and that is to abide your decision, 
but I am in hopes that you may, even yet, in the future, 
change your opinion and regard my suit more favorably. 
What about our drive to-morrow?” he remarked, as he rose 
to take his departure. 

“I guess,” said she, desiring to appease his feelings as 
much as possible, “ mamma will excuse me, especially if the 
day is fine.” 

Three o’clock was then agreed upon, and Goodwin po- 
litely took his leave. 

When he had gone, Emily returned again to the parlor, 
gazed for a moment upon her picture, and then, sitting down 
beside it, placed her hand upon the easel and leaned her head 
upon her arm. The declining rays of the sun that broke 
through the curtained window shone upon a contrast that 
afternoon. The portrait looked as bright and as cheerful in 
the soft, mellow light as when the artist gave it its last fin- 
ishing touch, but the face of the original that leaned against 
it was sad and sorrowful, and her eyes were filled with tears. 

When Goodwin bade Miss Emily good afternoon, he 
repaired at once to his office, in the rear of his store, agd 
tried to interest himself in looking over the pages of a large 
ledger which lay on the desk before him. The effort, how- 
ever, was not very well sustained; he could not become 
interested, and there was a reason for it. His mind con- 
stantly played upon the words, k ‘ I have never been able to 
get the consent of my mind that it would be best for you and 
me to enter into anything like a marriage engagement.” 

In the midst of the.se thoughts there came a rap at the 
office door, and when it opened, his landlord, Samuel Jack- 
Son, entered. 


56 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“Come in, Jackson,” said the merchant, smoothing out the 
frown upon his face, “and take a seat. How do you do 
to-day?” 

“Well, sir, I ought not to complain, I suppose, though, I 
am not feeling as well as I could desire. I have called to- 
day, Mr. Goodwin, to see if you would be kind enough to 
advance me a part of the rent for next month. I am greatly 
pressed, just now, for a little money, and must raise it if 
possible.” 

“Jackson,” said the merchant, wheeling around in his 
chair, without seeming to notice this request, “ have you any 
idea of .when and where I first saw you?” 

“ No, sir, none in the least.” 

“Well, it was in the old court house, some fifteen years 
ago. My father had, at that time, a big land suit, and you 
were his lawyer.” 

“ Yes, those were prosperous days, Goodwin, and if any one 
had then told me that I would be reduced to my present con- 
, dition, I should have dehounced him as a slanderer; but facts, 
young man, are stubborn things, and we can’t deny them.” 

Into Jackson's face, as he said this, there stole a look that 
was sad and pitiable. 

“Well, why don’t you try and better your condition? The 
truth is, Jackson, you drink too much liquor. If you could 
control your appetite as a man ought to, you could soon get 
back into business again.” 

“Ah, Goodwin,” he replied, as he shook his head, “that’s 
easTer said than done. For years I allowed myself to be de- 
luded with the thought that I could drink when I liked, and let 
it alone when I liked, but I find that I can’t.” And then, after 
a moment’s pause, and looking the young merchant straight 
in the face, he said, with significant emphasis, “ neither can 
you, young man!” 

“There’s where you are mistaken,” said Goodwin, his eyes 
flashing as he answered. “ I have drank liquor all my life, 
and my father before me, and there are no drunkards in our 
family.” 


A DISAPPOINTED SUITOR. 


57 


“ Young man,” replied Jackson, as he rose to his feet in a 
•state of some agitation, “ I didn’t come in here to receive a 
temperance lecture or to give one, but since the conversation 
has taken the turn it has, let me try to show you that others 
are in danger from the same common enemy that has over- 
come me. To do this with greater clearness, let me use a 
figure. A family once lived in a quite home on the banks of 
a river. The stream just opposite their home was quiet and 
placid, but some distance below there was a fearful cataract. 
The father used to sail in a boat in the quite part of the 
stream, and sometimes he took his son with him ; and so, as 
the son grew to manhood, he thought that what his tather 
had done he could do. He was frequently charged not to 
get too near the rapids, but his reply was that u he w^as able 
to look out for himself.” But at last the young man drifted 
too far down the stream, and was carried over the rapids and 
lost.” 

Well, Jackson,” interrupted Goodwin, “ I don’t see that 
your figure has any application in my case.” 

“Young man, that’s the point I am coming to. You say 
that your father is a moderate drinker, which I know to be 
true. You think that because he drank without becoming a 
drunkard, you can do the same. That, in my opinion, is 
where you are sadly mistaken.” 

“Now, see here, Jackson,” interrupted the merchant, the 
second time, “ as you have intimated that I am not able to 
control my appetite for liquor, will you be kind enough to 
tell me how you arrived at that conclusion?” 

“Yes, sir, if you desire it.” 

“Then, proceed.” 

“ Well, sir, for the last two years and a half you have been 
a regular boarder at Heffman’s hotel. During the most of 
that time it has been my privilege, or misfortune, just as you 
wish to call it, to keep his books. I was not long in observ- 
ing that your liquor bills for each month were on the increase, 
and when I discovered this fact, W alter Goodwin, I trembled 
for your safety, and I even ventured to speak about it to 
Heffman, but he gave me to understand very quickly that I 
was interfering with something that was none of my business. 


58 


THE BANE OF BEN DON. 


And now, young man, I think that I have said enough to 
make you fully understand what I mean by my illustration. 
Your father avoided the cataract, but whether his son will or 
not, remains to be seen. You are to much of a gentleman 
to go up to a bar and drink with common drunkards, but the 
appetite is on you, all the same. Because you are a secret 
drinker, the world does’nt think you are in danger, but when 
the crash comes — and it will it you don't reform — it will be 
all the more terrible ! ” 

It was evident that the young merchant did not want any 
further continuance of this conversation ; for instead of re- 
plying to Jackson, he turned to his safe, at the same time 
saving : 

J O 

“ How much money do you want? ” 

“Ten dollars will do me.” 

u Well, here it is.” 

Jackson took it and went out of the room. 

“ Fool that I am,” murmured Goodwin, when left alone r 
“it has come to a pretty pass that I must be lectured this way 
in my own store, and by a common drunkard, at that. But 
the worst is, all he says is true, every word of it. But I’ll re- 
form, and I’ll begin now — yes. I’ll do it if it costs my life ! ” 

In this connection, I might as well state that Walter 
Goodwin and Emily Du Bois went out on the following after- 
noon for the pleasure drive, but no reference was made to 
the letter he had written her, or the conversation they had 
had on the previous day. This drive led to others, and soon 
the report became current through the town that the two 
were engaged. Even the editor of the Bendon Times was 
carried away by this rumor, and knowing that bits of gossip 
were eagerly read by many of his patrons stated, that if 
common reports were true, there would be a brilliant wed- 
ding in the place before many months. No one exactly knew 
wh b he referred to, but many were of the opinion that it was 
Walter Goodwin and Emily Du Bois. 


CHAPTER IX. 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 

There lived m Bendon at the time of our story, a man by 
the name of Hugh Axley. Of property he had but little, 
of reputation less. He started out in life with the intention 
of becoming a lawyer, but failing in that, he gradually drifted 
into a pettifogger and political wire-puller. He was always 
ready to sow dissensions and encourage petty law-suits, 
hoping thereby to earn a few dollars by acting as attorney 
for one side or the other. In politics also he was always 
ready to work for the candidate that was the most lavish 
with his money, and but few elections passed without his 
being employed by one of the parties. 

Quite early one evening shortly after the opening of Du- 
Bois’ hotel, Axley entered Heffman’s bar-room, and in his 
boisterous manner, accosted the landlord by saying: 

“Well, Heffman, how are you getting along, and how is 
business with you?” 

a Business ain’t very good just now, Axley, but I am in 
hopes that it will be better after the warm weather is over 
and the long nights set in.” 

“ Perhaps it may, landlord, and I hope it will, but you 
liquor men are going to have trouble in this town before 
many months, if I am not greatly mistaken; Hugh Axley 
has figured too long in politics not to see some things, I tell 

you.” 

“ I guess you have been drinking too much to-day, Axley,” 
interposed Jim Markham, a bosom friend of Axley, and a 
regular customer of Heffman, and who was at that time 
leaning back in his chair against the wall. 


60 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“No, Jim, you are mistaken for’once, that’s certain; in fact 
I hav’nt drank to-day as much as usual, but then, there are 
some things so plain that even a drunken man can’t help 
seeing, and this is one of them.” 

“ I don’t see how we are to have any more than we have 
already got,” remarked the landlord. It seems to me that 
I carry now a bigger load than any other man in town.” 

“Perhaps you do,” continued Axley, “ but then you’ll 
have to carry more, all the same.” 

“ I wish you’d tell me how it’s to come, and then I’ll try 
and be ready for it.” 

“ I’ll do that very quickly, Heffman, if you wish it.” 

“Well, go ahead with your predictions, Axley; sometimes 
you are right and sometimes you are wrong.” 

“ A short time ago ” began Axley, “ you remember the 
temperance folks organized up in Jackson’s hall, a temper- 
ance society.” 

“Why, did Jackson let them have the hall?” interrupted 
Markham. “ He ain’t any more of a temperance man than 
I am, nor half as much, I am. thinking.” 

“That’s nothing to do with this case, Jim, one way or the 
other. And now I want you to keep still till I get through 
with what I have got to say.” 

Markham gave a low, groveling laugh, and promised 
silence. 

“Now, as I have already remarked,” continued the petti- 
fogger, “ the temperance folks organized some months ago 
in Jackson’s hall, a temperance society. I went there that 
night and watched their proceedings, and I saw at once that 
they meant to do something. As a usual thing I don’t go to 
temperance meetings much, but then, a man that has to do 
with the public more or less as I have, you know, must keep 
posted on all that’s going on. Well, that temperance society 
has continued growing until it has now over a hundred 
regular members; and, to make matters worse, Woodruff, 
the marble quarryman, has leased and furnished, I have been 
told, those two big rooms over the post-offie. Here, he 
says, his men can gather of an evening, if they wish to, and 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND, ’ 6J. 

will not be compelled to seek for company by going to a 
bar-room. They’re going to open up there to-night, I under- 
stand, and I believe I’ll go over after a while and see what’s 
going on.” 

“Well, Axley, how is all this going to effect .the liquor 
traffic, I should like to know?” inquired Heffman. 

‘‘Let me tell you; this temperance society which we 
have, will go on increasing in numbers and influence, and it 
won’t be but a little while before they’ll raise a clamor for 
prohibition, and then the churches of the town will join in 
with them. These quarry hands, after a few months, will 
be entitled to vote, and if they go with the temperance folks, 
and it looks now as though they would, you will see a ‘no 
license’ ticket elected in this town by a large majority. The 
temperance people have been carrying the day lately in a 
good many places, and unless we look sharp they’ll do it 
here.” 

“Well, well,” exclaimed Heffman, excitedly, “ things have 
come to a pretty pass, have’nt they! Who would have 
thought five years ago, or even three, that these temperance 
fanatics would have worked up such a powerful influence 
as they have now got! If things keep on this way, they’ll 
ruin the whole country, and we’ll all be ruined with it. Say, 
can’t we combine to do something to stop them? I’d give a 
hundred dollars to-night if there was’nt a temperance man 
in town.” 

“ Fellows, I’ll tell you what,” exclaimed Jim Markham, 
“ I don’t like these temperance folks any more than the rest 
of you. Let’s send Axley over and have him mix up with 
Woodruff’s men. After he gets pretty familiar with them, 
he can invite them here to take a social dram; if anybody 
can get them to come he can, and if we can once get them 
to drinking, they’ll not many of them go home sober if we 
can help it, that’s certain. What say you, Axley, will you 
go?” 

“Well,” replied the pettifogger, after a moment’s hesita- 
tion, “ I am willing to try, if Heffman will furnish the liquor 
free, after I get back again.” 


62 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“ Don’t let that stop you,’* remarked Heffman, “your liquor 
shan't cost you anything, that’s certain.” 

Doubled up on a bench in a corner of the room lay Mar- 
tin, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, apparently 
asleep, but who had been intently listening to all that was 
said. Between Martin and Axley there had never been any 
great friendship, and the remaining spark had been forever 
extinguished by the following circumstance: Axley had 
borrowed from Martin the very quarter that Mr. Woodruff 
had given him at the depot, and when, a week later, he asked 
him to repay the debt, he gave him sharp words of abuse 
instead. 

“ What right have you ” said he, in a lofty style, “ what 
right have you, a mere hostler at a hotel, to step up and dun 
a gentleman like me for money ? I ought to take you out to 
the mill pond and duck you, and then you’d learn some man- 
ners, perhaps.” 

Poor Martin was cowed, but the very intensity of his 
suppressed wrath made him quiver from head to foot. 

As soon as the plan above referred to had been agreed 
upon, Martin rose from the bench, yawned, turned his cap 
partly round on his head, gave the right sleeve of his coat 
an extra roll and sauntered out of the room. 

“So you are going to try to get some of Woodruff’s men 
drunk, are you, old Axley!” he murmured half aloud and 
half to himself. “ Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won’t. 
Pll find Woodruff myself, if I can, and then I’ll spile your 
little game for once, see if I don’t!” 

The stairway leading to the room over the post-office ran 
up from the outside of the building. That night, as Mr. 
Woodruff was about to ascend this stairway, he heard some 
one calling him from around the corner. Turning back, he 
found Martin, who, for him, seemed considerably agitated. 
Martin told him all that he heard while feigning to be asleep 
in the corner. 

“And would you believe it, Mr. Woodruff, I loaned that 
man Axley the very quarter that you gave me up to the 
depot, and he won’t pay it back again.” 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 


63 


“ Never mind about that, Martin, here’s another, that will 
make up for the one you lost, and if anything like this that 
occurred to night comes up again be sure and let me know.” 

'Marlin promised that he would, and with a tight grip upon 
the money, quickly disappeared in the darkness. 

When Woodruff entered the first room at the head of the 
stairs, a pleasant sight at once greeted him. Quite a number 
of the men had already assembled and were laughing and 
chatting together in a very sociable manner. Besides the 
heavy furniture, such as chairs, a table, and a writing desk, 
which he had purchased and placed there at his own ex- 
pense, pictures had been brought and hung upon the wall, 
and over the windows were appropriate mottoes, one of 
which read, “ welcome,” another the “ laborers’ re- 
treat,” and another, “ be temperate in all things.” 

The second room had been taken possession of by the 
wives of the men present, and Woodruff could hear the rat- 
tle of dishes and the steppings of hurried feet, which led 
him to imagine that a repast of some kind was to be part of 
the evening’s programme. 

“ Well, boys,” he said, after looking in an approving man- 
ner around the room, “ this is cheery, is’nt it ! Who fur- 
nished these pictures and mottoes ? ” 

“ Oh it’s the women,” replied Murphy, “ sure there is a 
lot of them in the other room there now, and they won’t 
allow one of us to go in to see what they are doing.” 

Woodruff was about to make some reply to this, when the 
door opened, and Axley entered, 

“Good evening, gentlemen, good evening!” he said in a 
very bland and affable manner. “I hope I am not intruding.” 

“Walk in, sir,” remarked Woodruff, as he advanced to- 
ward him, and at the same time extending his hand, “ this is 
Mr. Axley, I believe,” 

“ Yes sir, that’s my name. I have not had the pleasure, 
Mr. Woodruff, till now, of forming your acquaintance, and 
I am really glad to meet you. Though I was not invited up 
here, yet I thought I’d drop in a few minutes to see how you 
are all enjoying yourselves. 


64 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“ Well sir how do you like our room?” remarked Wood- 
ruff, as he handed Axley a chair. 

“ Very much, indeed sir, very much. But ’aint you taking 
more pains with your men than most employers generally 
do” 

“ Perhaps so, but then I think it will pay. You see, Mr. 
Axley,” he continued, “laboring men and mechanics are 
exposed in our towns and cities to a great many temptations, 
especially after working hours. You can’t expect them to 
remain at home all the time, it is’nt natural. They will go 
and see and be seeti. In this way they are often thrown un- 
der the influence of unprincipaled persons and induced to 
frequent places under the plea of sociability, that they had 
better remain away from. For an illustration, look at our 
town ; there is no public place here that these men could 
congregate to while away an hour after their day’s work, 
except a bar-room, and that’s no place for a laboring man, or 
any one else, for that matter.# 

Axley’s face flushed at this, and he answered : 

“ Our landlords here in town, you will find, Mr. Woodruff, 
are very fine gentlemen, every one of them.” 

“ Do not misunderstand me, Mr. Axley, I am not making 
war upon the landlords as individuals ; I am only trying to 
point out some of the dangers that laboring men are under 
who frequent their bar-rooms. Now, suppose that you were 
to invite over a half dozen of my men to-night to Heftman’s 
bar-room, which I hope you’d never do, and suppose they 
were to go with you ; on entering the bar-room they would 
in all probability be invited to drink. One glass would 
naturally lead to another, and by ten o’clock there would not 
be a sober man among them. That would be a horrid sight, 
would’nt it ? The landlord would get their money, and they 
would go home reeling through the streets to their families. 
When I think of the misery and wretchedness that these 
liquor places are causing, Mr. Axley, it makes me long for 
the time when every one of them will be forever closed.” 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. 


65 


“Well, well, Mr. Woodruff,” remarked Axley, as he rose 
to take his departure, “ of course, this is a free country, and 
every man is entitled to his opinions, but it will be some 
time, I think, before you temperance folks will be able to 
close up the bar-rooms in this place.” 

“ Perhaps so, Mr. Axley, but then we are under no obli- 
gations to patronize them; for my part I sha’nt, neither will 
I allow my men, if I can help it.” 

When Axley entered Heffman’s bar-room he found the 
landlord and Jim Markham anxiously waiting his return. 
Martin was back in his accustomed place in the corner, 
apparently lost in a profound slumber. 

“ What’s the matter, Hugh,” asked Markham, “ could’nt 
you get any of them to come?” 

Get them, no!” he exclaimed angrily, “the truth is, I 
could’nt get a chance to talk with one of them. That fellow 
Woodruff opened up on me as soon as I went in the room. 
Why he is one of the most rabid temperance men I ever 
saw. I tell you, gentlemen, that fellow will make trouble in 
this town yet with his radical temperance notions, see if he 
don’t. Some of these temperance men can be made to keep 
quiet, if you handle them right, but he won’t; not a bit of it. 
I will be glad, though, when this temperance fight does 
come, for then I will have a chance to tell him what I think 
of him. I’d have done it to-night if it had’nt been for a big 
burly Irishman up there who kept eyeing me all the time.” 

“Come, Heffman, if I did fail in what I undertook, you 
ought to bring out the liquor just the same; don’t you think 
so, Jim?” 

“Yes, that’s my opinion every time. If any man could 
have got those men 4iere you could, and a fellow ought not 
to be blamed for what he can’t help.” 

Shortly after Axley had taken his departure from the Toil- 
ers’ Retreat, the door leading to the second room was thrown 
open and the company invited to enter. Here were three 
long tables bountifully spread - with provisions, which all 
greatly enjoyed. 


66 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“ And now/’ remarked Woodruff, after supper was over 
‘‘you must excuse me, as I have two or three letters which 
must be answered to-night. These rooms, men, are for you, 
and your wives also, who have done so much to make this 
opening pleasant and agreeable to us all. There is no rea- 
son that i can see why we may not, all of us, be happy and 
prosperous in this community, if we will only do as nearly 
right as we know how. Let us earn as much money as we 
honestly can, and then take care of it after we get it In 
this way we will have something to keep us in a rainy day 
and when old age comes. And you men that have wives be 
sure and be kind to them.” 

yi Faith,” interposed Murphy, ‘‘ I hope that ye may have 
one yourself before many years, for it’s kind you’ll be to her, 
that we all know.” 

Here a laugh ensued at Woodruff’s expense, but he re- 
deemed himself somewhat by saying that if that event 
occurred while they were under him, he would certainly 
give them a holiday, if he did’nt invite them to the wedding. 

It was eleven o’clock, and after, that night before the com- 
pany broke up and returned to their homes with light and 
merry hearts. 

Perhaps the reader may turn away from these pages and 
say, “oh, well, this is only a simple gathering of common 
people, after all.” Very true, yet, in that simple gathering 
there was an open frankness, a spontaneous joyousness, 
which is seldom found in the gilded salons of the great and 
wealthy; and better, far better would it be both for the cap- 
italist and the laborer if such workingmen’s clubs as I have 
here described were as common as they are rare. 


CHAPTER X. 


MORE COMPLICATIONS. 

As soon as George Woodruff came to Bendon with the in- 
tention of permanently remaining he obtained board and 
lodging in a very pleasant and agreeable family by the name 
of Churchwell. It was not long before he felt perfectly at 
home in his new quarters. Mrs. Churchwell, his good 
natured landlady, however, had one characteristic which was 
less common then than now. She always managed to keep 
quite well posted on the principle events occurring in the 
community, and was by no means backward in her volumi- 
nous comments upon them — not that she meant any harm at 
all, but it was a way she had — and not even the laughs and 
jests of her husband, nor the remarks of others could dissuade 
her from it. 

“ I understand,” said she, one day, in her quick, voluble 
way, at the dinner table, shortly after the events recorded in 
the previous chapter had occurred, “ that there is to be a 
large gathering soon, of some kind, at Mr. Du Bois’. I won- 
der if Miss Emily and Walter Goodwin are not to be mar- 
ried then.” 

That’s a strange surmise, Jane,” said her husband. “How 
do you know that they are engaged, even ?” 

^ I don't know it, she answered, but then people think they 
are, and besides, they are frequently seen driving out to- 
gether. Walter Goodwin has never gone with any other 
young lady for the last two years when Miss Du Bois was in 
town, and that, to my mind, looks rather suspicious. Don’t 
you think so, Mr. Woodruff?” 


68 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


Before Mr. Woodruff could venture an opinion, there came 
a rap at the door, to which Mr. Churchwell responded, and 
in a few moments returned, carrying in his hand a letter. 

“Here, Mr. Woodruff,” he said, “this is for you.” 

Woodruff quickly opened the letter, which read as follows: 

“Mr. and Mrs. Du Bois request the pleasure of Mr. Wood- 
ruff’s company at a social party, at their home, on Tuesday 
night, August 15th, at 8 o’clock.” 

“I don’t think, Mrs. Churchwell,” remarked Woodruff, as 
he folded the letter and laid it beside him, “ that there will be 
any wedding at Mrs. Du Bois’ just at present. This note is 
an invitation|from them |o a social party, to be given the 15th, 
but it doesn’t speak of any wedding.” 

“ If that wedding doesn’t come off then, it will be a great 
(iisappointmen^to some,” remarked Churchwell, with a dry 
laugh and a sly glance at his wife. 

“ Now, John Churchwell,” exclaimed his wife, rather in- 
dignantly, “ you can laugh as much as you like, sir, but there 
are some things that a woman can find out without being told. 
Any one can see that Walter Goodwin is dead in love with 
Emily Du Bois, and if he doesn’t get her it won’t be his fault, 
I dare say.” 

After dinner, that day, Woodruff, as wasjiis custom, called 
at the post office on his way to his place of business, and as 
he advanced toward the delivery window he saw, standing 
nearly in frontjof him, a tall, elegantly-dressed lady of about 
thirty-five. 

“Is there any mail for Mrs. Haynes?” she asked. 

“ No, madam, nothing,” replied the postmaster. 

At this she turned quickly and passed out of the building. 

‘‘There are two letters for you, Mr. Woodruff,” said the 
postmaster, handing them to him, “ but there^are no papers 
to-day, though yours ought to have come on the 11 o’clock 
train.” 

“ Let me see,” said Woodruff, as he sat at his desk in his 
office a half hour later, “who these letters are from.” 

The first he found to be from his pastor, Elder Littleton, 
and read as follows : 


MORE COMPLICATIONS. 


69 


Bendon, August 6 , iS — . 

Mr. George Woodruff : 

Dear Sir and Brother — I shall, if I can find the time, 
call at your office some time during the week. My special 
reason for calling will be this: I have thought, of late, that 
possibly something might be done which would lead to the 
reformation of Samuel Jackson. There is much about the 
man that is really good, even though he is a confirmed 
drunkard, and if he could be saved, it would not only be a 
glorious thing for himself and family, but there is no telling 
the amount of good that he might do for the cause which 
lies so near your heart and mine. I write you this note so 
that you may have plenty of time to think the matter over 
before I call. If anything can be done by us to save this 
man, let us, in the name of our common Master, try and do it. 

Yours, fraternally, 

K. D. Littleton. 


The second letter was as follows: 

Boston, Mass., August 4. 18 — . 

Dear Sir — It is my painful duty to inform you that my 
father was, one day last week, stricken with paralysis. He 
has rallied somewhat from the shock, and his physicians say 
that with proper care, he may partially recover, but that he 
will never again be able for active business of any kind. It 
is his desire, and mine also, that some one shall take his place 
in the firm, if the proper person can be found. And now, if 
you wish to purchase an undivided one-half interest in the 
quarry at Bendon, we will sell it to you at cost. As to the 
quality and extent of the marble, you are better able to judge 
than any one else. I have, as you know, found, a ready 
market for all your shipments, and at a fair price. Take all 
the time you need to think over this proposition, and then 

write me. • 

Yours, truly, 

H. Andrews. 

“Well, well,” thought Woodruff, as he folded these letters 
and laid them aside, this is a strange world we are in. Who 
can tell what a day may bring forth?” 


70 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


On the following afternoon Elder Littleton called for a few 
moments only, to say that the proposed conference had bet- 
ter be delayed until the following week, as he would be 
compelled to leave town for a short time on business. 

The proposition made by Andrews & Son was considered 
by Woodruff very carefully, but before coming to any posi- 
tive conclusion he determined to call upon Mr. Du Bois, at 
his office, and lay the whole matter before him, and, if pos- 
sible, get his opinion. 

“Well, now, Mr. Woodruff/’ remarked Du Bois, as the 
two were quietly closeted together in that gentleman’s back 
office, “ as you have asked for my opinion, there are a few 
questions I must ask before giving it. How much money 
towards this purchase can you pay down?” 

£ Well, sir, at least one-half — perhaps two-thirds.” 

“ That’s a good beginning. How, may I inquire, did you 
come in possession of this money?” 

“ I earned it, sir, every dollar of it.” 

“ Then write at once to Andrews & Son, and say that you 
will accept their offer, and for them to make out and forward 
on to you the proper papers immediately. If they will give 
you time on part of the purchase, all right; if not, come 
back again to me. The investment I regard as first-class, 
and any young man that’s been as saving and industrious 
as you have, sha’nt fail for the want of a little help, if I can 
give it.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 

The last rays of the hot sun had faded into the dim blue, 
when the full orbed moon rose upon the town of Bendon. 
Cool breezes, ladened with the perfume of summer, breathed 
gently over hill and dale, and all things gently rested in the 
stillness of evening. The beautiful mansion of Judson Du 
Bois was brilliantly illuminated, and gay parties, here and 
there, wandered in joyous abandon through the apartments 
and in and out among the shrubbery in the well-kept grounds. 
The merry laugh, the graceful and easy carriage of the 
guests, the universal joyousness that spread over all, ren- 
dered this the most sjffendid occasion of the season. Among 
the many guests assembled there on that evening, was one, 
who is already well known to the reader — George Wood- 
ruff. 

“Ah! a pleasant evening to you, Mr. Woodruff,” said Mr. 
Du Bois, as he met our friend on the lighted steps and gave 
him a cordial shake of the hand, “ I am exceedingly glad to 
meet you; but come, let me introduce you. to my wife.” 

That affable lady seemed to be as extremely well pleased 
to meet Mr. Woodruff as her husband, and immediately car- 
ried him off to introduce him to her guests in the parlor. 

Among many bright groups he met a dozen friends or 
more, among whom was Walter Goodwin and Miss Emily 
Du Bois. Among this brilliant assembly Miss Du Bois 
seemed to be above all the most distinguished. Her plainly 
cut but tastefully trimmed dress made of the richest material, 
set off to perfection her really beautiful form, while her gen- 
tle words and winsome manners won for her a host of 
admirers. 


72 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“Let me see,” said Woodruff, running his hand over his 
forehead, as he caught a glimpse of the young lady, occa- 
sioned by the breaking up of a chatting group which had 
surrounded her,” “it seems to me that I have seen her before, 
but where was it?” 

But other guests came into the room, and his researches 
among the chambers of memory were for the time ended. 

After a while, the parlor being filled up with new arrivals,, 
he, in company with several others, stepped out upon the 
broad piazza.^ Although he was a stranger to nearly all 
present, and had indeed thought several times during the 
day that perhaps this occasion would not be to him a source 
of much pleasure, yet in all this he found himself agreeably 
disappointed. Words of kindness and expressions of good- 
will were heard all around him, and it was not long before 
he was laughing and chatting quite freely with a merry 
group of ladies and gentlemen at the farther end of the 
piazza. 

“ Do you remember the picnic we had at Caytoffs Grove 
last summer?” asked one of the company. 

“ Certainly we do,” replied another; “we’d not forget that 
very easily, as we all agreed that it was the most enjoyable 
affair of the season.” 

“Well, why can’t we have another this summer?” asked 
Walter Goodwin, who had at this moment joined the circle. 

“Of course we can!” “Let’s have it, by all means!” 
exclaimed a half dozen voices. 

After some discussion, in which all took part but Mr. 
Woodruff, it was decided to hold a picnic at Cayton’s Grove 
on the following Tuesday. 

“And now, Mr. Woodruff,” remarked Goodwin, as soon 
as this arrangement was agreed upon, “ we shall expect you 
to form one of our company.” 

“Of course that’s understood,” said a lady &t Woodruff ’s- 
elbow. 

“I thank you kindly for your invitation,” said Woodruff, 
but really I am afraid that I can’t get away from my business- 
for a whole day just at present.” 


BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 


73 


“ But you can be with us a part of the day, then, can you 
not?” said Mr. Goodwin. 

“Perhaps so; at least, I will try.” 

Just then the crowd turned toward the parlor, for Miss Du 
Bois, yielding to a request, had seated herself at the piano, 
and out into the moonlight the sweet strains of music floated, 
as, accompanied by the instrument, she sang — 

“ I shot an arrow in the air — 

It fell to the ground, I know not where.” 

“ Ah! ” thought Woodruff, as he glanced through the open 
window, “ it’s all plain to me now. I knew I had seen her 
before.” 

“ I hope, Mr. Woodruff,” remarked Miss Emily, as the two 
:met in the drawing-room an hour later, “ that you have had 
a pleasant evening ” 

“Yes, indeed, very pleasant; in tact, I do not see how it 
could have been otherwise with any of your guests.” 

“ Thank you,” she answered with a pleasant smile; “we 
always like for our friends to feel perfectly at home. You 
will excuse me, Mr. Woodruff, but haven’t we met before? 
Once,” she continued, “ while in great danger at a street 
crossing in Boston, a gentleman came to my assistance, and 
somehow I have been under the impression all the evening 
that it was you.” 

“Was there a fire company with their engine on the street 
at that time, do you remember, Miss Du Bois?” 

“ Yes^sir; but I did not see them until I was about to cross 
the street, and that was the occasion of my danger.” 

“ I remember,” he answered, “ rendering some little assist- 
ance to a lady under such circumstances, but the whole affair 
had passed from my mind, and indeed, I should not have 
been able to recall it, had it not have been for that beautiful 
song you just sang for us.” 

“ Really, Mr. Woodruff,” she replied, with an astonished 
look, “ I do not see what possible connection there could be 
between the two events.” 

“ Perhaps not, Miss Du Bois, but you will, I think, when I 
tell you that on the evening following the afternoon you refer 
to I left my hotel for a stroll. Being a stranger in the city, I 


74 


THE BANE OF BEN DON. 


was desirous of seeing some of the principal streets by lamp- 
light, and as I was walking leisurely along Grand Avenue I 
saw, through an open window, a lady sitting at a piano, 
whom I recognized at once as the one I had met on the street 
a few hours before. Just then she began singing the same 
song that you sang here to-night. I must confess. Miss Du 
Bois, that I slackened my pace considerably, and perhaps 
halted several times, while you were singing; but I am will- 
ing to apologize, even at this late date for so doing ” 

Miss Emily laughed heartily at this, but assured him that 
no apology was necessary. 

At this juncture supper was announced, and the company 
repaired at once to the dining hall In the arranging of the 
guests, it so happened that Walter Goodwin and George 
Woodruff were seated nearly opposite each other. Goodwin 
ate but little, and at times seemed quite absent-minded, for 
several times he raised his wine-glass to his lips, and then, as 
though suddenly recollecting himself, placed it back upon 
the table; but at last, when the meal was nearly ended, he 
quickly raised it to his lips and drank the contents. Soon, 
by his order, it was refilled, and again quickly emptied. In 
a few moments all signs of absent-mindedness had left him, 
and he appeared quite cheerful and talkative. All this Mr. 
Woodruff saw, without seeming to see. Shortly after supper 
the guests, one after another, began leaving, and W oodruff 
resolved to do the same, and so he bade his host and hostess 
a good night and took his departure, » 

On going out into the street he saw, to the west, a heavy 
cloud, which indicated an approaching shower. He hurried 
along, and had hardly entered his room before the rain began 
falling in heavy drops. He did not retire at once, but throw- 
ing himself into his easy chair, listened to the pattering of 
the rain as it fell upon the roof. Very naturally, his mind 
went back to the home he had just left and to those he had 
met there; but among them all there was one that had im- 
pressed him more deeply than all the rest, and that person 
was Miss Emily Du Bois. At one moment he was inclined 
to think that he had really fallen in love with her, and would, 
if possible, try to win her; but the next moment this thought 


BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 


75 


was summarily dismissed. He had good reason for believing 
that she was already pledged to another, and therefore could 
never become his. Besides this, there were many other rea- 
sons which were unfavorable to such an alliance. He had 
but limited means; she was rich. He had been compelled to 
fight his way in the world, inch by inch; she knew but little 
of what that meant. His home, for many years, at least, 
must be plain and simple; hers, like the one in which she 
was reared, must be large and spacious. 

Soon the storm blew over, and the moon shone out as 
bright as ever, and Woodruff ceased his musings and retired 
to rest. 


CHAPTER XII 


SUNBEAMS. 

In the village of Bendon, and not far from the center of it, 
stood a large tumble-down frame house. In other days, and 
they were long since, it was considered by many as the pret- 
tiest house in the town. Large trees and rare shrubbery 
adorned the yard, while honeysuckles twined themselves 
around the pillars of the piazza and nestled close up under 
the eaves. The house was neatly painted, and all the sur- 
roundings indicated genuine homely comfort. But all this 
had now changed. Time and the want of attention had 
robbed it of much of its former charms, leaving nothing to 
the gaze of the passer-by but an unsightly, melancholy ruin. 
The paint upon the building had faded out by long exposure, 
and the eaves were fast crumbling. The floor of the long 
piazza had given way in many places, and one of the pillars 
had fallen to the ground. The lawn, too, had been sadly 
neglected, and in many places was entirely hid by a rank 
growth of weeds. The path to the front street was rough 
and unbroken, while the front fence, propped here and there, 
gave unmistakable signs of a speedy fall. 

This was the house of Samuel Jackson, whose family, as 
we have already stated, consisted of a wife and one child, 
a beautiful boy of twelve summers. Mrs. Jackson was a 
woman of real culture and true refinement. In her younger 
days she was noted for her great beauty, and even at the 
time of which I write there was a peculiar charm about her 
voice and manner which secured the attention and respect of 
all who knew her. Like the wives of thousands of drunk- 
ards, she had experienced many vicissitudes since her bridal 
day. When she first entered this home it was a beautiful 


SUNBEAMS. 


77 


morning in spring; birds sang sweetly, and darted here and 
there through the limbs of the trees; flowers in the yard sent 
out their fragrance on the morning air, and all about was 
bright and happy. Choice pictures hung upon the walls, 
and furniture rich and costly adorned every room, and as she 
glanced quickly around her, and then into the face of her 
companion^ she thought, if she did not say it, this is a para- 
dise indeed. But oh, how many sad changes since that 
bright May morning! *e had seen her husband go down, 
step by step, from that of a moderate drinker to a confirmed 
drunkard, until now at last her old home, like her own poor 
heart, was sad and lonely. 

‘ 4 Come, Harry,” said Mrs. Jackson, one morning as she 
heard the school-bell ring, “you must hurry away now, or 
you will be late for school.” 

44 I don’t want to go to school to-day,” he answered quite 
piteously. 

“ Why, my son, I am surprised to hear you talk that way; 
you told me only last week that you liked your teacher very 
much.” 

44 So I do, mamma; she is just as kind as she can be; but I 
have never told you how badly the boys mistreat me. Al- 
most every day some of them are sure to tell me that my 
father is a drunkard. Yesterday at recess Willie Greene 
called me 4 the drunkard’s boy,’ and when he said that, the 
whole school began laughing, and I felt so badly that I went 
away and cried.” 

Quick as the thrust of a sharp dagger these words pierced 
the mother’s heart. In an instant her face turned pale and 
her lips quivered, and she came near giving way under this 
new load of grief; but suddenly summoning all her fortitude, 
she mastered her emotion, and in a moment more appeared 
calm and collected. Putting her hand gently upon the head 
of her boy, she said, in a quiet, tender way: 

14 Never mind, my son, what your playmates may say; you 
are not to blame for what your father does, and it ’s cruel in 
them to laugh at you for his failings. It will never do, 
though, Harry, for you to leave the school-room, even though 


78 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


you are laughed at; they may be more kind to you after 
awhile, especially if you are kind to them/’ 

“I hope they will, mamma, I am sure I do,” he replied, in 
the same pitiful strain as before, “ but I am afraid they 
won’t.” 

“ Oh, God ! ” exclaimed the sorrowing mother when left 
alone, “ help me, for this is too much to bear. It’s hard 
enough to see my husband go down to ruin, day by day, and 
for me to suffer on in poverty and^retchedness and despair, 
but for this disgrace to be heaped upon my darling boy, who 
knows no wrong, it will break my heart. Oh, Lord, is this 
always to last! Is there no help for me and mine!” 

About ten o’clock that morning there came a rap at the 
door, and when it opened, the great burden that was resting 
on the heart of this woman was lifted just a little, as she 
saw standing before her on the porch her pastor, Elder 
Littleton. 

“ You will excuse me,” he remarked very pleasantly a few 
moments later, as he accepted the proffered seat in the par- 
lor, “ for calling so early; I would like to see your husband a 
few moments on a matter of business. Is he at home?” 

“No, sir, he is not; he went out about eight this morning 
and has not yet returned. Is there any word that you wish 
to leave for him?” 

“ Well, no,” he replied, after a short pause, “ I think that I 
had better see him myself; and yet you ought to know the 
nature of my business. Mr. Woodruff, at the marble quarry, 
is in need just now of a book-keeper, and possibly he might 
secure the place if he would apply for it.” 

“ Oh, thank you, sir,” replied Mrs. Jackson, as her face lit 
up with a strange joy, strange because of its rarity, and be- 
cause of the old time brilliancy that again shone in her eyes. 
“ I am so glad to find that there is some one that takes an 
interest in him. You know his failings, without my stopping 
to tell them, but withal he is kind and generous. He has 
talked more than usual of late about reforming, and if he 
could only have constant employment and be surrounded 
with the proper influences, I have faith to believe that he 
would be himself once more.” 


SUNBEAMS. 


79 


“ Oh, the curse of rum,” she continued, after a pause. 
How little does the world realize the misery it brings to our 
hearts. Sometimes as I have sat by my wdndow and watched 
the people go by smiling and bowing to each other, I have 
been tempted to think that everybody has friends except the 
poor drunkard, and the drunkard’s family.” 

“ Yes, and they have, too,” replied the minister, his eyes 
filling with tears, as he rose to take his departure. “ Our heav- 
enly Father looks down upon all his creatures and sends 
pi-ty and help to those who are the most needy; so don’t give 
way under your trials, though they are great, for help from 
God I believe will yet come, and that too, before the eleventh 
hour.” 

Between the hours of two and three that afternoon, a man 
somewhat past middle life might have been seen walking 
along the street with a slow, measured tread, in the direction 
of the marble quarry to the north of the village. He paid 
but little or no attention to his surroundings,' for he seemed 
to be lost in his own thought. To the soul of that strug- 
gling one that day — for indeedjie was in great distress — two 
voices seemed to be speaking; the one was urging him up- 
ward, to soberness, manliness, and days of happiness in the 
loves of wife and child; while the other was urging him 
downward to the dark abyss of eternal night and endless 
agony, of remorse and wretchedness. 

“ What’s the use, Jackson,” said one voice, “of your going 
up to Woodruff’s office? He’ll give no employment to a man 
that has made the wreck of himself that you have — that’s 
certain.” 

Quicker than thought came the other voice, in an assuring 
tone — 

“ Well, if he does not want you, why did he send for you?’’ 

“ If you get in his employ, spake the first voice, in a tone 
so loud that Jackson almost turned around, “you will soon 
be discharged, for he has said that he will have no drunkards 
around him.” 

Again the opposing voice volunteered an answer — 

“ Well, if you are a drunkard, why not reform; and why 
not begin now? You have said many times, and especially 


80 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


of late, that you intended to reform, now here is a chance, 
and why not improve it?” 

“ True enough, true enough,” he murmured, half aloud,” 
this is my opportunity, and I will improve it, for it may be 
my last.” 

Then in the strength of this resolution, this struggling one 
lifted up his heart and prayed, — 

“ Oh, thou great and infinite God, who hast always had 
compassion on the children of men, have mercy this day 
upon me.” 

As he made this prayer, like the Publican of old, he would 
not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven. But just then 
there came to his inner being a strange' warmth of feeling 
which inspired him in his despair and strengthened him in 
his weakness. 

“Come in, Mr. Jackson,” said George Woodruff, as the 
former stood -in the door of his office on the afternoon in 
question, “ come in and be seated. Elder Littleton has de- 
livered the message I sent you, I suppose?” 

“Yes sir,” replied Tackson, “he stated that you wished to 
employ a book-keeper, and that if I would apply, possibly I 
might secure the situation; and so, sir, I am here in response 
to your kind invitation. I am afraid, however, Mr. Wood- 
ruff',” he continued, “ that if you knew me as well as I know 
myself, you would hardly take the trouble to send such a 
message.” 

“ Oh, well,” replied Woodruff, very pleasantly, “too much 
self condemnation is not necessary, nor is it profitable.” 

“Very true, sir, and yet a man should be the severest judge 
on himself. It’s not an easy thing for one to confess his fail- 
ings, especially to a stranger; but as you have interested 
yourself in my welfare, I feel in honor bound to tell you of 
my great besetment. I have been for a long time, as prob- 
ably you are aware, greatly addicted to the use of strong 
drink, and if I enter your employment, as I hope I may, that 
propensity must be conquered. And now, whether I can 
do this or not, remains a problem yet to be solved.” 


SUNBEAMS. 


81 


“That’s true, Jackson, every word of it, but then this 
problem is capable of a solution, I think. Let us look at it 
for a moment from a practical standpoint. If you can go 
three hours without drinking, why not twenty-four? If 
twenty-four, why not a week? If a week, why not a year? 
If a year, why not a lifetime ?” 

“Is this not a fair way of looking at it?” 

“ Yes, Mr. Woodruff, all that you have said seems reason- 
able; but oh, the cravings of a depraved appetite! No 
human being can tell what that means, unless he has con- 
tended against it. But,” he continued, at the same time rising 
to his feet and looking Woodruff straight in the face, ‘‘if you 
will give me employment and extend to me that sympathy 
that one in my condition actually needs, I will make the trial.” 

“ I’ll do that, Jackson, and do it very cheerfully. When 
do you wish to begin work?” 

“Let me begin at once, sir, if you please; if I can con- 
quor to-day, it will help me for the conflict to-morrow.” 

But little was said during the rest of the afternoon, and 
both men worked quietly away at their desks. 

Murphy came in hurriedly once for some instructions, and 
seeing Jackson there, gave a slight nod and knowing wink 
as he turned to go out, as much as to say, “poor creature; 
it’s a hard battle ye have got before ye, but if ye only hold 
on, as I think ye will, by the blessed saints, ye’ll get the vic- 
tory after a while.” 

Outside the office could be heard the constant clink, clink, 
clink of the hammer and chisel, and now and then the voice 
of the foreman, as he directed the men who were hard at 
work all around hinu At last six o’clock came, the quitting 
bell rang out, and all sounds suddenly ceased. 

“Come, Jackson,” said Woodruff, as he turned from his 
desk and took down his coat and hat which hung on the 
wall behind it, “let’s go home; no one works here after six, 
unless we are greatly crowded.” 

“Very well, sir, I am ready.” And the two passed out 
together. 


82 


THE BANE OF BEXDON. 


The setting sun came out from behind the skirting clouds, 
and its broad beams .poured shimmering light and glory over 
hill and dale. 

As Jackson entered his home that evening he found a 
warm, hearty meal already prepared for him. Not a word 
was said by his wife as to where he had been, or what he 
had been doing, but upon her face he saw an expression of 
joy such as it had not vvorn before for many long months, 
and even years. 

After supper, while his wife was engaged in her house- 
hold cares, he went out upon the piazza for rest and medita- 
tion, and presently Harry came out also, who, after climbing 
up upon his lap, put his arms around his father’s neck and 
softly said: 

“Papa, you don’t know how glad mamma is, now that 
you are trying to quit drinking; and I am glad too, papa, the 
boys at school won’t laugh at me any more, and push me 
away, and call me The drunkard’s boy,’ will they, papa?” 

He tried to answer, but could not; he could only clasp his 
child to his heart, and through trickling tears, look up at the 
quiet stars above him, and inwardly pray — 

“ Oh, God, save me from this awful curse of intemperance. 
If not for my sake, for the sake of my wife and child.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A VISIBLE BREAK. 

Late one morning in the month of August, in the summer 
of which I write, Mr. Henson, the junior partner at the new 
hotel, called one of his porters to him and asked: 

“ Has Dr. Smallson been up to Mr. Haynes’ room this 
morning?” 

“ Yes, sir, he is there now, I think.” 

Just then the door opened and the doctor entered. Imme- 
diately Henson, accosting him, begged to know how Mr. 
Haynes had passed the night. 

“ He’s much better this morning, sir, than I expected to 
find him,” replied the physician. “ He feels strong enough, 
he thinks, to venture out of his room and take his breakfast 
in the dining hall. He fancies that he can enjoy it there bet- 
ter than in his own room, and perhaps he can.” 

“ What do you think, Doctor, is the occasion of this illness? 
He claims that he has a heart difficulty, but I don’t believe 
it.” 

Well, sir, to be frank with you,” said the doctor, in an 
undertone, “ it’s all, or nearly all, occasioned by the excessive 
use of strong drink. If he will only let that alone, I see no 
reason why he may not permanently recover; but if he con- 
tinues to dissipate as he has for the last ten days, there is no 
telling what will be the result.” 

“It is very singular,” remarked Henson, somewhat indig- 
nantly, “ that a man of his sense should make such a perfect 
fool of himself. He has sold liquor long enough to know 
that if it once gets the start of him it will use him up before 
he gets through with it. Now, I can stand behind a bar and 
sell liquor all day, and not drink over once or twice, unless I 


84 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


feel that I really need it, and I don't see why he can't. Why, 
when we lived in Hartford, every now and then he would go 
off on a spree like this, but they never lasted as long as this 
one.” 

u The fact,” replied the physician, “ that he has been accus- 
tomed to this kind of dissipation makes it all the more im- 
portant that he should exercise a rigid control over himself 
in the future. He is so much better, however, this morning, 
than I expected to find him, that it will not be necessary for 
me to continue my visits. Fresh air and moderate exercise 
will do more for him just at present than any medicine I can 
give him.” 

After this conversation the doctor hurried away to look 
after other patients, while Henson repaired to the dining 
room and ordered his breakfast. He had hardly finished his 
first cup of coffee when his brother-in-law, Mr. Haynes, 
accompanied by his wife, came slowly into the room. One 
hand was resting on her arm, and with the other he leaned 
heavily on his cane. His face was pale, with the exception 
of a few red blotches here and there, and somewhat emaci- 
ated, while his slightly bent form trembled considerably, and 
showed signs of exhaustion. 

“ And now, husband,” asked Mrs. Haynes, after wishing 
her brother a good morning, “ what shall I order for your 
breakfast?” 

All this was said quite pleasantly enough, and yet a care- 
ful observer would soon have detected in the look of her eye 
and sound of her voice that she was struggling heroically 
under some great burden, which at that moment was destroy- 
ing her peace and happiness. 

“ Bring me some toast and coffee, Mary,” he answered, in 
a husky voice; “ it’s all I care for, this morning.” Then turn- 
ing to his brother, he said: 

“ Well, John, how is business with you? This is the first 
time in over a week that I’ve been out of my room, and I’d 
like to know how you are getting along.” 

“Yes, I know,” said John, “you have been housed up for 
Several days past, and, according to what Dr % Smallson says,, 
you’ll stay there for some time to come, unless you quit 


A VISIBLE BREAK. 


85 


drinking. I saw him this morning as he came down from 
your room, and he gave me to understand that unless you 
turned over a new leaf, my boy, there wasn’t much hope for 
you.” 

“ Perhaps the doctor knows more about my case than I do 
myself, though I don’t believe it. I ki\ow I’ve been drinking 
too much for the last week or so, but then I’ll be all right 
again in a day or two — but tell me, how are you getting 
along?” 

“ Oh, well,” replied his partner, rather indifferently, ‘‘ we 
are not making near the money I thought we would before 
coming here. We have a large number of boarders, and our 
share of the transient custom, but our sales at the bar are 
narrowing down every day. Outside of a few old topers, 
whose custom don’t amount to much, one way or the other, 
the people here seem to be afraid of a bar-room. There is 
that young merchant, Goodwin, who came t6 board with us 
when we first opened, whenever he wants any liquor it must 
be sent up to his room; and there are several others just like 
him.” 

“ Well, John, this is a little singular, that’s certain. There 
must be a reason for it. Do you know of any?” 

“Well, yes, I think I do. There is a third-rate lawyer 
here by the name of Axley, who drops in to see us every 
day or so, and he says that all this trouble has been brought 
about by the temperance folks. It seems, from what he told 
me, that some months ago they organized a temperance so- 
ciety, and a good many of the leading families of the town 
have joined it; and, to make things worse, the churches have 
gone in with them; and now, wherever you go, you can’t 
hear anything but temperance and reform.” 

“ What about the quarry hands?” inquired Haynes. “Don’t 
they patronize us? That class of men, you know, are gener- 
ally among our best customers.” 

“Of course they are! Give me a big gang of working 
men, and I’ll make a fortune out of them in five years. I 
have always seen that; but these fellows don’t patronize us — 
not a bit of it. There is that man, Woodruff, their foreman, 
— he’s the leader in all this temperance excitement, so they 
F 


86 


THE BANE OF BEXDOX. 


say; and if he finds that one of his men drinks anything, he 
makes him quit or else discharges him, and the result is, he is 
surrounded all the time by a lot of temperance fanatics. If 
I ever get a chance at him — and I hope I will some day — I’ll 
tell him what I think of him, see if I don’t.” 

“No, no, John,” said his partner, “ that will never do — not 
a bit of it. You have been giving me a short lecture about 
drinking too much, and perhaps I needed it, but let me give 
you a little advice as to the best way'of handling these tem- 
perance folks. They are the hardest people in the world to 
get along with, and unless you know just how, they are sure 
to get the start of you. Generally, they begin their opera- 
tions by holding temperance meetings and getting people to 
sign the pledge, but if you will just let them alone and not 
oppose them in any way, the whole thing will soon blow 
over, and that’s the last you’ll hear of it.” 

“Yes, but suppose they organize, and carry their opposi- 
tion to the polls, as they are doing in many places, what 
would you then advise?” 

“ Oh, well, that’s another thing. In that case, we must 
organize, and do the very same. The law has given us the 
right to sell liquor, and we must see to it that our rights are 
not trampled on. Denounce them openly as a lot of fools 
and fanatics, and argue that prohibition will not prohibit, and 
advise all you meet to have nothing to do with them. Go 
right to the business men and tell them that if they can’t 
help you, they must remain neutral in the coming contest; 
that if they oppose you, you will certainly oppose them. In 
the next place, you must put a strong ticket in the field — men 
who are secretly, if not openly, opposed to prohibition. 
They can be found anywhere, if you will only take the 
trouble to find them. After this, you must look after the 
newspapers and politicians, for, as a rule, they don’t want 
anything to do with this question, one way or the other, and 
perhaps, through money or promise of future support, you 
may secure the influence of some. Then say to the rest that 
unless they stand “ hands off” the whole liquor interests will 
be brought to bear directly against them, and we are too big 
a force in this country to be ignored, even though our busi- 


/ 


A VISIBLE BREAK. 87 

ness is’nt the most respectable.^ Last of all, be sure that you 
have plenty of money ; that’s the great power in elections 
nowadays. People may talk as much as they like about a 
strong temperance sentiment and strong moral convictions 
getting into the minds of the people, and all that kind of stuff, 
but money and self-interest is going to win every time; that’s 
been my observation. It’s not the impractical notions of 
these temperance folks that bothers me so much just now,” 
he continued, as he rested his arm upon the table and his 
head upon his hand, “ as this miserable pain in my head and 
chest. Nothing seems to relieve it but strong brandy ; but 
the doctor says I’m not to use that any more, else I’ll break 
down all at once, and I suppose I’ll have to do as he tells 
me.” 

At this juncture his wife returned, bearing in her hand a 
large server, which held not only the toast and coffee he had 
ordered, but also several dishes filled with luscious fruits and 
rare delicacies. 

“ Why, Mary,” he quickly said, as he glanced up into her 
face, “you have enough there for two well men, to say 
nothing of a sick one like myself ; but come, you must si t 
down beside me now and help enjoy it.” 

Let us leave this company at their morning meal, and turn 
to other events. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


SERPENT COILS. 

Samuel Jackson, contrary to the expectations of many, had 
remained faithful to his purpose, and to the joy of his friends, 
had shown no disposition to go back to his former ways. 
We must not suppose, however, that his present victory was 
won without a terrible battle. Many a hard struggle had he, 
between his own better nature on the one hand, and a 
vitiated appetite on the other ; struggles that were hid from 
the outer world and known only to a few of his most inti- 
mate friends. 

When the morning for the picnic came, and while he and 
his employer were at work at their desks, a dozen carriages 
or more came whirling along the road in front of the office 
and quickly disappeared in the distance. 

“ Walter Goodwin was with that company was he not Mr. 
Woodruff?” asked Jackson, as he glanced up from his 
ledger. 

“Yes, sir, he and Miss Du Bois were together in the fore- 
most carriage, I think.” 

“Poor fellow,” he slowly muttered, as he resumed his 
writing once more, “ He’s getting nearer the cataract every 
day, I’m afraid ; but then, I must not say too much, or some 
one will answer, ‘physician, heal thyself.’ ” 

All was quite again and nothing was heard in the room 
but the tick, tick of the clock upon the wall, or the scratch- 
ing of their pens as they hurried them along over the white 
pages which lay before them. 

Presently one of the men who had been down to the 
office for the early mail, came in and laid upon Mr. Wood- 
ruff’s desk a paper and several letters, and one of these he 
found on opening to be without date, and read as follows : 


SERPENT COILS. 


89 


“Mr. Woodruff : 

“Dear Sir: — I take this opportunity of telling you 
that there is trouble in the air. The wicked blood hounds 
will be sent forth soon to prey upon the weak and innocent. 

I would like very much to come up and tell you all I know, 
but I can’t, for if I do, I may be watched; and then again I 
want to find out more of what these wicked men are doing 
and how they intend to do it. I’ll watch em, I tell you. 
See if I don’t. 

“ Yours truly, 

“ Martin.” 

“Poor Martin,” thought Woodruff, half pitifully, half 
mirthfully, as he laid down the letter, and opened another, 
“ I wonder what he means by all this. There is some scheme 
on foot, that’s certain, or he never would have written me.” 

When twelve o’clock came, and as Jackson was preparing 
to leave for dinner, Woodruff turned to him and said: 

“I am going out for the rest of the day, Mr* Jackson, and 
I will leave the office in your'charge. If any one calls to see 
me, tell them that I will be here again in the morning.” 

“Very well, sir,” he replied, “I will do the best I can in 
your absence.” 

“Please say to the foreman as you pass by the quarry that 
I would like to see him a moment before he goes to dinner.” 

The message was soon carried, and Murphy quickly 
responded. 

“I am going out this afternoon, James, and shall’leave 
Jackson in charge of the office. You can drop in though 
every now and then and keep him company; and when 
quitting time comes, if I am not here, be sure that he gets 
back to his home without being led off by any of his old 
companions.” 

“I’ll do that sir, and do it willingly; but, Mr. Woodruff, 
you don’t think, sure, that there is any man in this town 
that’s mean enough to draw that poor crayther back into his 
old ways, do you?” 

“I hope not, Murphy; yet there is no telling what some 
men may do if they only have the chance. Our best plan 
though is to keep an eye on them all nth e time.” 


90 


THE BANE OF BENDOX. 


“Faith, I’ll do that sure, and two of them as well. And 
so you can be gone as quick as you like, and may you have 
a pleasant time while you are away from us.” 

After this conversation Woodruff stepped into a carriage 
which was in waiting for him at the door, and drove away 
to join the picnic party at Cayton’s Grove. 

Once away from his office, he resolved to throw off all 
business cares, and to give himself over for a few hours at 
least to healthful recreation. Everything around him just then 
seemed conducive to that end; the weather was all that could 
be desired; the road over which he was pleasantly gliding 
was as smooth almost as a floor of marble, and from the 
company now gathered at the grove he expected a hearty 
reception. 

When he had driven but a few miles beyond the town all 
thoughts of himself were for a moment diverted as he saw 
coming toward him and at a high rate of speed a horse and 
carriage. As the vehicle drew near he soon recognized that 
the driver was none other than Walter Goodwin. 

“ Why, Mr. Goodwin,” he said, reigning up his horse 
quickly, “ this is quite unexpected, is it not? Are you not 
going to spend the day with the party at the grove?” 

“That was my intention, Mr. Woodruff, when I went out 
this morning, yet I am compelled, though much against my 
will, to forego the pleasure.” 

He said this in a way which plainly indicated that he 
meant every word of it. 

“The other evening,” he continued, “in coming home 
from the party at Mr. Du Bois’, I was overtaken by the 
shower, and became thoroughly drenched, and as a result 
a severe cold fastened itself upon me, which I am afraid 
from present indications, may cause me some trouble. I 
debated in my mind for some time this morning whether it 
would be safe for me to venture out, but concluded that I 
would, hoping that as the day wore on I would feel better; 
but I am not, I am sorry to say. I felt so miserable, espe^ 
cially about eleven o’clock, that I could be company for no 
one, and so asked to be excused, and am now on my way 
home.” 


SERPENT COILS. 


91 


“Really, Mr. Goodwin,” replied Woodruff, “I am sorry 
to learn of your illness. I’ll go back to town with you if I 
can be of service in any way.” 

“Oh no, thank you,” he quickly answered, “that’s not 
necessary. A half dozen of the company volunteered their 
services, but I wouldn’t listen for a moment. My misfor- 
tunes must’nt interfere with any one else’s happiness. And 
so I wish you all a pleasant time together.” 

“Thank you,” replied Woodruff, “and I sincerely hope 
that you may have a speedy recovery.” 

After this conversation they quickly parted company ; 
Goodwin to hurry back to his hotel, and Woodruff to join 
the party just a few miles beyond. 

The grove he found on his arrival to be a lovely spot, a 
place admirably adapted to merry making. Tall trees with 
heavy foliage held back the piercing rays of the sun, and 
underneath their branches the air was cool and pleasant. To 
the east, on the edge of the grove, stood a high ledge of 
rocks, over whose crest a sparkling stream of water swept 
in majestic curves, leaping here and there from point to 
point until it reached the level below. Near the foot of the 
ledge, under the shade of a large maple, close beside the 
stream, he found the company, all of whom seemed bright 
and cheerful, for they were laughing and chatting together 
in the most friendly manner. 

“We are glad to welcome you to our circle, Air. Wood- 
ruff,” said one of the gentlemen, as he advanced a short dis- 
tance to meet him, and at the same time extended his hand 
in token of welcome. 

“ Thank you, sir,” he replied, “ and I am equally glad to 
be here.” 

Hearty hand shaking and pleasant welcomes quickly fol- 
lowed, after which the company arranged themselves in a 
circle preparatory for dinner. 

“You must have met Mr. Goodwin on your way out, did 
you not Mr. Woodruff?” inquired Miss Du Bois as the two 
were seated near each other. 

“ Yes, and I was sorry to learn of his illness.” 


92 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“ So were we all,” she answered, * 4 it seems strange some- 
what to have a gathering of any kind and he to be absent.” 

“ Oh! he’ll be all right again in a few days, Miss Du Bois,” 
interposed a gentleman who was sitting near by. 

41 1 hope so, I am sure I do,” was her reply. But her voice 
gave no assurance of that fact. 

A dinner in the woods, even in mid summer, is an event 
considerably out of the ordinary, but is withal very enjoy- 
able. And how often as the years glide by do we go back 
in pleasant memory to some such scene as this, and with 
tenderness, and even affection, recall the forms and faces of 
those who ate with us under the shade of the old maple and 
laughed with us by the side of the running brook. And so 
this company ate and drank and laughed together for an 
hour or more in the most pleasant and agreeable manner. 
After this came a long ramble through the woods, and a 
clambering over rocks, some of which were quite rough and 
broken, gathering ferns and flowers as they went that grew 
out of the crannies till at last, and by a circuitous route, they 
reached the top of the cliff to the east of the grove. Here 
a general halt was called and a rest agreed upon, and this 
too was made all the more enjoyable by sallies of wit, peals 
of laughter and a sweet blending of voices in happy song. 

Thus the hours passed quickly and pleasantly by, till at 
last they were admonished by the fast declining sun that they 
must hasten homeward.” 

4< I should like very much, Miss Du Bois,” said Woodruff, 
as they were walking along together, 44 for the privilege of 
escorting you home, if agreeable.” 

“ Certainly,” she answered, 44 1 shall be pleased to accept a 
seat in your carriage.” 

The drive back to town was enjoyed more by Mr. Wood- 
ruff and possibly by Miss Emily than even the picnic in the 
grove. The conversation, as it drifted from one topic to 
another, partook more of the calm and thoughtful than of 
the light and fashionable, and as he bade her a good after- 
noon at her own gate, after a pleasant invitation to call when 
agreeable, he turned away, feeling that he had been in the 
society of a truly noble woman. The same feelings that 


SERPENT COILS. 


98 


came in upon him that night as he sat in his easy chair in 
his own room and listed to the rain drops as they pattered 
upon the roof came back the second time, and with greater 
force than ever. But again, and for the same reasons as be- 
fore, he steeled his heart against them. 

On his return to the village, as he drew near his own home, 
he saw little Martin standing by the gate; and suddenly 
remembering the letter he had received only a few hours 
before; wondered if he was not in search of him. 

“Ho! Mr. Woodruff,” exclaimed Martin a 'moment later, 
“ I am so glad you have come.” 

“ What’s the matter, Martin? Is there anything you wish 
to tell me?” 

“ Yes sir, there is, and that’s why I am here now. Hugh 
Axley and Jim Markham are out on the street yonder, watch- 
ing for Jackson as he comes home from his work, to see if 
they can’t coax him back into Heffman’s bar-room. They 
made up their plan last night, but they did’nt know that I 
was listening to all they said. They are out there now, for I 
saw them when they went.” 

“ Is that possible ?” he answered as he glanced at his 
watch, and seeing that it was then fifteen minutes after 
quitting time. 

“‘Here, Martin, drive this horse to the stable, and I’ll see 
what can be done.” 

Quickly he sprang from the carriage and hurried along 
toward the taverp. Just as he turned the corner some two 
blocks from it, he caught a glimpse of Axley, Markham, and 
Jackson, as they passed in at the bar-room door. 

“Oh, this is cruel! cruel!” he exclaimed, almost with a 
groan. “ These men are worse than murderers. But I’ll foil 
them yet, or know the reason.” 

Hurrying on and quickening his pace as he went, in less 
than two minutes, or three, at the farthest, he was standing 
close beside them. 

The landlord was behind the bar, quietly and complacently 
surveying the three before it. 


94 


THE BANE OF BEXDOX. 


Jackson had tilled his glass, and was ia the act of raising 
it to his lips, when Woodruff laid his hand quickly upon his 
arm, and at the same time saying: 

“Jackson, are you going to drink that ?” 

The drunkard turned, and with a mingled look of shame 
and surprise answered, after a slight pause: 

“NoT’ 

“That's an insult to my house !” exclaimed Heffman, an- 
grily, as he leaped over the counter, “and I’ll not stand itr 

“Put him out!” exclaimed the others, “ put him out! he’s a 
scoundrel, anyway.” 

Just as Heffman was in the act of leaping over the bar f 
Murphy, unobserved by all, had entered the room. Quick 
as a flash he stepped in front of his employer, and in a thun- 
dering tone cried out — 

“ Stand back, Mr. Woodruff, if there is any putting out to 
be done it’s James Murphy that will have a hand in it.” 

“ Hold, gentlemen!” interposed Jackson as he lifted his 
hand and uttered the words with terrible deliberateness — 

“ Let there be no trouble here over me.” 

Then turning to the landlord, and with a determined look 
upon his face, quickly said in fiercest tones: 

“ Heffman, do you see the liquor in this glass?” 

“ Certainly I do, and more than that, I’d drink it, if I 
wanted to.” 

“ Well, sir,” he continued, “that cursed stuff has been the 
bane of my life; yes, and the bane of Bendon, as well. It 
has robbed me of my money, my health, my happiness, my 
reputation. It has brought disgrace upon my family, and a 
blight upon my home. And here, in the presence of you all, 
I solemnly declare that, not another drop shall ever pass my 
lips. And again, I solemnly affirm that, while I have the 
power to think or act, I shall wage perpetual warfare upon 
this, the most damnable traffic that ever angered God or 
cursed humanity.” 

Then, and without another word, he poured the liquor 
upon the floor, placed the tumbler on the counter, and 
walked out of the room. 


SERPENT COILS. 


95 


The effect produced by this speech may be better imagined 
when it was said that for fully a minute not one of the lis- 
teners moved or spoke. 

Presently Murphy broke the silence by saying — 

“Come, Mr. Woodruff, let’s be away from here; it’s no 
place for a dacent man, anyhow.” 

The whisky seller and his confederates were left standing 
in blank amazement. 


CHAPTER XV. 


IN THE WHIRLPOOL. 

Walter Goodwin, on his return from the picnic, went 
directly to his room, gave the bell-cord a sudden jerk, laid 
down on a couch near the window, and tried to rest. 

“ It’s no use,” he muttered, as he passed his hand slowly 
over his heated forehead. “ It’s no use. I’ve tried hard, but 
failed, and everything seems against me. I’ll leave this horrid 
place and go away among strangers, and then perhaps I can 
do better.” 

He had hardly finished this soliloquy when there came a 
slight rap at his door, and Mr. Henson quickly entered. 

“Have you seen my father in town to-day, landlord?” in- 
quired Goodwin. “ He generally comes in on Tuesday.” 

“No, sir,” was the reply.. 

“ Well, if he calls, send him up to my room, please; I 
wish to see him.” 

At this juncture the dinner bell rang, and the tramp of feet 
could be heard in the adjacent passage. 

“You are not feeling well to-day, are you, Mr. Goodwin?” 
asked the proprietor. “ Shan’t I order your dinner sent up? 
You can’t get along without eating, you know.” 

“No, thank you, I am not the least hungry, but you may 
send me up some wine if you wish.” 

The landlord did as requested, and very soon a bottle of 
wine, with a glass, was placed upon a table near the centre 
of the room. Slowly the sick man rose to his feet, and with 
an occasional sigh, advanced to the table, filled the glass to 
the very brim, and with a trembling hand raised it to his lips 
and drank it, then returned again to his couch, closed his 
eyes and tried to lose himself in slumber. 


IN THE WHIRLPOOL. 


97 


In this world of ours the law of cause and effect is so in- 
evitable that we are compelled often in our analysis of men 
and things, to go back as far as possible to original causes, 
and when these are reached, usually we have but little diffi- 
culty in tracing them forward to their logical sequences. 
As has already been intimated, the father of young Goodwin 
had always been a moderate drinker. The choicest of wines 
and liquors were always kept on the side-board or in the 
cellar. It was seldom or never that a guest entered his home 
without being invited to a social glass. He not only drank 
in the presence of his children, but would sometimes permit 
them to drink with him. “ A little wine for ’the stomach's 
sake ” was a favorite argument with him, and he farther held 
that a fnoderate use of liquor was a better safeguard against 
intemperance than total abstinence. Such were the teachings 
and influence that surrounded Walter Goodwin from early 
childhood; and when he left the old homestead and went out 
into the world for himself, he carried with him the same ideas 
that his father had held before him. Wine was always kept 
on his father’s side-board — wine should be kept on his. His 
father had always been a moderate drinker — he would be 
the same. These teachings and influences were the starting 
point of a line of action which resulted in consequences 
most terrible and heart-rending. He began as a moderate 
drinker, but with him, as with thousands of others, the habit 
slowly but firmly grew upon him, and ere he was aware he 
had crossed that line — a line finer many times than the bridge 
of A1 Serat — which separates the moderate drinker from the 
confirmed drunkard. True, he had too much pride and self- 
respect to drink at an open bar, or to be seen in public in a 
state of intoxication, nevertheless he was a constant slave to 
a vitiated appetite — an appetite which persistently refused to 
be overcome or even satiated. The pungent remarks ad- 
dressed to him in his own office by Samuel Jackson some 
time previous compelled him to realize very keenly his criti- 
cal condition, and he resolved on an immediate reformation. 
But alas! his good resolutions were of short duration, while 
the chains chat bound him were more firmly riveted than ever 
before. A painful apprehension of these facts, combined with 


98 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


a severe cold and threatening fever, threw around him that 
day an ominous cloud — a cloud so replete with darkness and 
gloom that it hid from his vision the last ray of a silver 
lining. 

“ What, Walter,” said his father, in his quick, nervous 
manner, as he came into the room some two hours later, 
“ what does this mean ? You are not well; that’s certain, and 
you have a fever, too — I can tell that by your face.” 

“ I’m not well, father,” he feebly answered, at the same 
time raising himself up slowly from his couch; “in fact, I've 
been miserable for the last week or so. This morning I 
drove out to Cayton’s Grove, thinking that it might help me, 
perhaps, but it hasn’t, I am afraid.” 

“ I see you haven’t kept the temperance resolution that 
you talked to me about the last time I saw you,” remarked 
the old gentleman, rather dryly, as he seated himself in an 
easy chair, and at the same time glancing at the wine bottle 
on the table. 

“No; and what is still worse, I never expect to; in fact, I 
can’t, if I would.” 

“ Tut! tut! boy, that will never do — not a bit of it. You’re 
down-hearted, and I must get you out of here as soon as 
possible; so rouse up from there, and go out home with me, 
and ramble around the fields for a week or so. The clerks 
can look after the store for that short time, can’t they?” 

“ They can get along as well without me, probably, as they 
can with me,” was his answer. “I’ll go out home very will- 
ingly, but it will do no good, I am afraid. A man can’t run 
away from himself, no matter where he goes.” 

“ Really, Walter,” replied his father, just a little irritated, 

“ what’s come over you, to talk this way. I never saw you 
out of heart like this before. Has anything gone wrong 
with you? If there has, let me know it.” 

“Yes, much has gone wrong, especially of late. I’m 
ashamed to confess it, but the truth is, father, I’m a 
drunkard?” 

“What! you a drunkard!” he answered with a surprised 
look. 


IN THE WHIRLPOOL. 


99 


“ Yes, I’m a drunkard ! I’ve concealed this from you and 
from my friends for a long time, but it is useless to attempt it 
any farther ” 

The surprised look upon the old gentleman’s face slowly 
blended with one of sorrow, and after a pause he answered: 

“ Walter, I never thought that it would come to this.” 

“ No nor I, either,” was the laconic reply, “ but it has.” 

“ Well, well, my boy, continued his father, his face lighten- 
ing up just a little, “if you find your desire for strong drink 
is getting the better of you, why don’t you resolve to drink 
no more, and end the matter right here. The idea of a young 
man at your age givingaway in this, manner, and thinking he 
is mined, is all moonshine. Look at me, I’ve been drinking 
liquor, more or less, all my life, and I’m no drunkard. If the 
appetite for liquor should get the start of me, I’d throw it off 
in a minute. I’ve always said that. 

“Yes, father, I believe you would; but it does not follow 
that I can. One person, with ease, may accomplish a task 
which to another would be an impossibility.” 

“That’s true, Walter, but then that’s no excuse for you to 
give way in this manner. But come, get ready as quick as 
you can, and we’ll go back together. I’ll leave word at Dr. 
Smallson’s for him to come out to see you. He’ll bring you 
out all right in a week or so ; that is, if you do as he tells 
you.” 

Walter Goodwin’s old home was some three miles or more 
to the west of the village, and in less than an hour and a half 
from the time of this conversation he found himself alone in 
his old room, trying to rest, but still feeling more miserable 
than ever. 

“ Its no use,” he muttered ; “the fates are all against me. 
If I could have won her, she might have helped me to re- 
form, perhaps ; but then its best as it is.” 

About 9 o’clock, the doctor called and was shown into the 
sick man’s chamber. He examined his patient very carefully, 
asking but few questions and answering none. 

“ Is there anything very serious in Walter’s case ?” asked 
the father, a few moments later, as the two were together in 
an adjoining room. 


100 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“ Your son, Mr. Goodwin, I am sorry to tell you, i,s a very 
sick boy, and the wonder to me is that he has kept around as 
long as he has. There seems to be a complication of diffi- 
culties in his case. He has a very high fever, which L don’t 
like; then again his system appears to be very much run 
down, which will be considerably against him. If I knew 
exactly what caused this debility,” continued the physician, 
“ I could tell better what to do. Have you any reason, Mr. 
Goodwin, to suspect that Walter has of late been addicted to 
an excessive use of strong drink?” 

“ I am afraid, Doctor, that he has. In fact, he told me 
to-day that his appetite for liquor had gotten beyond his 
control.” 

“ I am sorry to learn this,” said the physician, “ but then, 
we must do the best we can. Give the medicine as I have 
directed, and I will call again in the morning.” 

The long, weary hours of the night wore away, but Walter 
Goodwin showed no signs of improvement. Occasionally 
he was delirious, and while in this state would frequently 
mutter, “Too late! too late! I’ve tried, but failed! failed!! 
failed!!! 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE BITE OF THE SERPENT. 

“Are you at leisure fora few moments, Mr. Du Bois,” 
asked the bank cashier, as he stepped into the office of the 
former, late in the afternoon of the day following the picnic 
at Cayton’s Grove. 

“Yes, sir. Come in, Mr. Renfrew; what can I do for 
you?” 

“That last note of Walter Goodwin’s is due to-day, and 
has not been paid. What’s to be done about it?” 

“That’s a little singular,” replied Du Bois. “ Perhaps you 
had better step across to Goodwin’s store and request him to 
look after it.” 

“I should have done so before calling on you,” he an- 
swered, “but Mr. Goodwin is out at his father’s, very sick, 
so my neighbor Dr. Smallson, informs me.” 

“I had not heard of his illness; that probably accounts for 
his failure in not meeting his paper. Let the whole matter 
rest for another day, and if it is not paid by that time, you 
will notify the endorser, his father.” 

‘‘Perhaps that would be the better way; but,” continued 
the cashier, “ we must be more careful about our loans to this 
young man in the future, or the bank will have trouble.” 

“ What leads you to that conclusion, Mr. Renfrew?” asked 
Du Bois, laying down his pen quickly, and turning partly 
around in his chair. 

“Well, I will tell you, but of course what I say is not to 
be repeated as coming from me. There is a report in circu- 
lation through the town that ) oung Goodwin has of late been 
indulging too freely in the use of strong drink. I had a talk 
yesterday with one of his clerks concerning this report, and» 

G 


102 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


while he would not admit it, he was very careful, I observed, 
not to deny it. This morning, on my way to the bank, I 
came up with Henry Heffman, and he affirms that Goodwin 
has paid him more money for liquor within the last year than 
any two of his best customers.” 

“ This is all news to me,” replied Mr. Du Bois, with a sur- 
prised and even anxious look, and I shall investigate these 
rumors at once. If this young man is going to ruin at this 
rate, as a matter of self protection, we ought to know it.” 

u That’s what I think,” replied the cashier, as he rose to 
take his leave. “Of course I don’t want to injure young 
Goodwin, or any one else, for that matter, but then, if we 
don’t look after our own interests, no one will do it for us.” 

“ Mother,” remarked Mr. Du Bois to his wife that evening, 
after supper, as the two were seated in the library, “ I was 
sorry, to-day, to hear very bad reports about Walter Good- 
win.” 

‘‘ What reports?” asked his wife, in a very hurried and 
excited manner. 

“I have just heard that Walter Goodwin has of late been 
excessively indulging in the use of strong drink.” 

“I don’t believe a word of it, Mr. Du Bois, not a word of 
it! It’s just some one trying to injure him. Walter Good- 
win, like the most of gentlemen who move in higher circles, 
may indulge in a social glass now and then, but as for his 
becoming a slave to the appetite, I don’t believe it. He’s too 
much of a gentleman for that.” 

“Gentlemen have become drunkards long; before Walter 
Goodwin’s day, Mother. I really hope that these reports are 
false, but I feel that it is my duty to investigate them, and I 
shall begin to-night; and if I find them true, Walter Good- 
win shall never marry my daughter, with my consent, that’s 
certain.” 

About nine o’clock that night Judson Du Bois might have 
been seen walking up the main street, and in at the side 
door of the hotel which bore his name. 

‘‘Tell Mr. Henson that I would like to see him for a few 
moments if he is at leisure,” he said to a porter, on entering 
the sitting room. 

o 


THE BITE OF THE SERPENT. 


103 


The message was quickly carried, and in a few moments 
this gentleman responded. 

“ I am glad you have called, Mr. Du Bois,” remarked the 
landlord, after the usual salutations of the evening had passed. 
“ I have been wanting to see you for a day or two.” 

“ Well, sir, I am glad to meet you. How is business?” 

“That’s exactly the point I want to talk about. I am sorry 
to state that we are not getting along here as well as I think 
we ought to.” 

“What’s the matter?” asked the owner of the hotel. “Is 
not the house well patronized?” 

“ Oh, ye.s, we have our share of the custom, but the real 
trouble is with Haynes and his wife. You see, Mr. Du Bois,” 
he continued, drawing his chair up a little nearer and speak- 
ing in an under tone, “it’s not very pleasant for one to be 
obliged to speak of family difficulties, but there are a few 
facts that I feel compelled to tell you. My brother-in-law, 
Haynes, has for a long time been drinking altogether too 
much liquor for one who is engaged in the business. It’s too 
bad that a man of his sense should make such a fool of 
himself, and I have told him so a great many times, but it 
don’t do any good. When we lived at Hartford he would 
frequently get on a spree that would last for a week or so, 
and then it would take at least another week to get over it. 
Several times, the last year we were there, he drank so hard 
that he was thrown into the delirium tremens, and the doctor 
told him very plainly that unless he quit drinking he couldn’t 
live. Finally his wife set in, and gave us no peace until we 
sold out and left the city. When we came here he promised 
me faithfully that he would not drink a drop, but he has gone 
back to his old ways again, worse than ever. We have kept 
him up stairs now, most of the time, for the last three weeks, 
under the plea that he was sick, but some of the boarders are 
beginning to mistrust what really ails him, I think. He is up 
in his room now, as wild as a hawk, with his wife and two 
men to watch him. I wish he would straighten up and be 
himself once more, because he is one of the best landlords, 
when he sets himself about it, that I ever saw, but he is so 
far gone that I am afraid he won’t.” 


104 


THE BAXE OF BENDON. 


“ I am sorry, Mr. Henson,” remarked Mr. Du Bois, “ that 
your brother-in-law is so unfortunate, but really I don‘t see 
how I am to help it.” 

“Of course you can’t, Mr. Du Bois; but the point I wish 
to bring before you is this: I have made a proposition to 
Haynes to buy out his interest here and carry on the business 
myself; and he is willing to sell, if you, as the lessor of the 
property, will release him from all future obligations.” 

“That matter can be satisfactorily arranged, I think. 
Come down to my office to-morrow, and we will look over 
the conditions of the lease together. By the way,’ con 
tinued Mr. Du Bois, “ Mr. Goodwin boards with you, does 
he not?” 

“ Oh, yes; he came with us as soon as we opened, and ” 

Just at this moment a servant rushed into the room, greatly 
excited, and said: 

Mr. Henson, come up quick ; Mr. Haynes is wild 
again ! ” 

Henson sprang quickly to his feet, at the same time saying: 

“ Come up with me, Mr. Du Bois; there is no telling what 
may happen.” 

When the two men entered the highly-furnished apartment 
a horrible scene met their gaze. Before them, crouching 
back in the bed, his hands convulsively clutching the clothes 
on either side of him, his disheveled hair hanging over his 
forehead, on which stood large drops of sweat, his lower jaw 
dropped in speechless terror, his lurid eye fixed in a glassy 
stare upon some imaginary object which seemed to hover 
near him, appeared the raving maniac, Harry Haynes. 

“Take them away! take them away!” he cried, “for 
God’s sake ! Help ! help ! They are coming to get me l 
Don’t you see them ? Devils ! devils ! ” 

Nearer and nearer came the awful phantom, and wilder 
and more awful became the shrieks of the doomed man. 
The gentle face of his heart-broken wife bent over him, to 
soothe and calm: but even that assumed a malignant aspect. 
The room seemed to become a foul pit of livid fiends. At 
last, with a shriek that would have appalled the stoutest 
heart, the wretched man essayed 10 spring from the bed, but 


THE BITE OF THE SERPENT. 


105 


fell back, exhausted. The blood oozed from his mouth upon 
the pillow and ran down upon the white sheets. A few • 
convulsive gasps, a slight heaving of the chest, and the poor 
inebriate lay a livid corpse. He had hardly ceased breathing 
when his wife came and knelt by the bed, and, putting her 
face down close beside her dead companion, piteously ex- 
claimed: 

“Oh, husband! husband! don’t leave me! What shall I 
do in this cold world, all alone, without you!” 

Then fully a minute passed, and nothing was heard in the 
room but the deep, wailing sobs of the heart-broken woman. 

‘‘ Come away, Mary,” said her brother, stepping close up 
beside her and laying his hand on her shoulder; “come away. 
You can’t do him any good now; he's* gone.” 

“ No, I’ll not leave him!” she exclaimed vehemently; “ I’ll 
not leave him! It was you who brought him to where he is, 
and his blood will be upon you! It was to save his life that 
we took him away from Hartford; but you gave him no 
peace, day nor night, until you led him to this awful house; 
and when he told you of his weakness you only laughed in 
reply, and now he is dead and I am left alone!” 

Judson Du Bois was a man of strong nerve, but this sight, 
so unexpected, and, withal, so unnatural, for the moment 
nearly overcame him. Feeling that he could be of little or 
no assistance by longer remaining, he turned quickly and 
passed out of the room. 

One square below the new hotel, and on the same side of 
the street, stood the office of Dr. Smallson. The doctor had 
been a regular practitioner in Bendon for many years. He 
was a tall, firmly built man, and his face, like his form, de- 
noted great firmness of character. His upright dealings as a 
man, and his long standing as a physician, gave him a great 
hold on the community. 

When Mr. Du Bois came out into the street he walked 
along until he reached the office referred to, gave the door a 
slight rap, and entered. 

“ Why, neighbor,” said the physician, what’s the matter? 
You seem to be nervous over something. You are sick, are 
you not?” 


106 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


Mr. Dii Bois then related, as best he could, what he had 
just seen and heard in the upper room of his own hotel, and 
concluded by saying: 

“And now, Doctor, you can’t wonder that I am just a little 
nervous after witnessing such a strange scene, can your” 

“No, sir, I do not. I have witnessed several similar scenes 
in my life, and I shall never forget the impressions they left 
upon me; and I tell you what,” continued the physician, 
“ my mind has undergone a great change, of late, on this 
liquor question, and I feel now like condemning myself for 
not coming out years ago and taking a more positive stand 
against it. There are many persons in this community who, 
like myself, claim to be on the side of temperance: but what 
have we done or what are we doing to lessen the evils of 
intemperance? Absolutely nothing. As a physician, I have 
been called upon to visit a great many homes in this section, 
and you would be astonished, sir, and appalled, if you were 
to know the misery and wretchedness that strong drink has 
brought to many of them. When that young man, Wood- 
ruff, came to our town and identified himself at once with a 
temperance society, and took such a firm stand against 
intemperance, I thought that he was carrying his convictions 
beyond the line of propriety, but now I have concluded that 
he was right and I was wrong; and, more than this, I have 
already determined that in the future I will take my stand 
along with the active temperance workers, no matter whom 
I may offend or what sacrifices I may be called on to make. 
This question must be fought out socially, religiously, and 
politically, and the sooner the better for all concerned.” 

“That’s right, Doctor; I admire a man that will stand up 
for his convictions, even though they may differ from mine. 
There is no doubt but that one of the greatest evils that curses 
the world to-day is intemperance, but just how we are to get 
rid of it is another question. And, by the way, Doctor, 
changing the subject a moment, how is Walter Goodwin; do 
you know? I understand that he is out at his father’s very sick.” 

“Walter Goodwin,” replied the physician, “ is in a very 
critical condition, and unless there is a change for the better, 
and that very soon, I shall despair of his recovery.” 


THE BITE OF THE SERPENT. 


107 


“What is the occasion of this illness? Young Goodwin 
always appeared strong and healthy.” 

The doctor paused a moment, as though a little perplexed 
as to what answer he should give. 

“ It is not considered professional, Mr. Du Bois, for a phy- 
sician to talk too openly of the failures or misfortunes of his 
patients, but here is a case which forc’bly illustrates the point 
we have just been discussing. From what I can learn, youqg 
Goodwin has been a moderate drinker all his life. This 
appetite has grown upon him until it has reached a point 
that he can’t control it, or at least, he says he can’t, and his 
long and constant use of liquor has thrown his whole system 
into an abnormal condition. With these ailments, he is also 
suffering from a severe attack of fever, which places him in 
a v$ry critical condition. I have been out there once to-day, 
and am going again to-night, and I hope I shall find him 
better.” 

“I am sorry to learn of Walter’s misfortune. I have 
known the young man from childhood, and his father and I 
have always been the best of friends. If you are going out 
there to-night, though, doctor, I must not farther detain you,” 
and with this, Mr. Du Bois took his departure. 

About eleven o’clock that ‘night Dr. Smallson stepped into 
his carriage and drove out through the town in the direction 
of Walter Goodwin’s old home. When he had driven some 
two miles beyond the village he heard, just ahead of him, the 
sound of wheels and the quick tread of hordes’ feet. Sus- 
pecting that perhaps this might be a messenger in quest of 
him, he tightened up the reins and spoke quickly to his 
horse: “Come, Dolly, let’s be out of this.” 

“Is that you, Doctor?” called a voice. 

“Yes. What’s wanting?” 

“Hurry on at once to Mr. Goodwin’s, Walter is worse! 
They have sent me for you.” 

To reach the Goodwin place, as it was called, was only the 
effort of a few minutes, for Dolly trembled, and fairly flew, 
in her efforts to obey her master. Before reaching the house 
he saw, by the moving lights that shone through the win- 
dows, that there was much excitement within. On entering 


108 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


the bed-chamber, he found his patient in a very precarious 
condition. A fearful struggle between life and death was 
going on, with the chances very much in favor of the latter. 
Quickly the doctor applied such remedies as, in his judgment, 
the case required, but all was of no avail; Walter continued 
to grow weaker and fainter, and that very rapidly. 

The sadness that settled down on that home that night was 
terrible to contemplate. The aged mother, with her heart 
pent up with grief, bent over her son, to comfort and soothe; 
the anxious father would, every now and then, speak to the 
doctor in an undertone, and imploringly ask if there was any 
change for the better; and when told there was not, would 
slowly retire to an adjacent room, that he might weep alone. 
Close by the bed-side sat the physician that he might watch 
every motion of his patient. Thus the long, weary hours 
wore slowly away 

The wind sighed mournfully through the limbs of the old 
elm just outside the window, the huge old clock in the 
hall kept up its continuous tick, tick, tick, and just as the 
first dawn of morning broke in upon a darkened world, 
Walter Goodwin roused up for a moment, glanced to the 
right and left, then murmured: 

u Too late! too late!” He closed his eyes and was stiffened 
in death. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


CHRIST OR BELIAL? 

Great reforms, like giant oaks, develop slowly. No great 
reform was ever wrought out without much labor and pa- 
tient watching. Sometimes the darkness settles down upon 
us so deep, that we fancy all is lost Then again the light 
breaks in, and we toil on and take courage for the future. 

For nearly two years from the time of the opening of our 
story, the temperance people had labored hard to instill in 
the public mind a healthy temperance sentiment. Public 
lectures had been delivered, though much against the secret 
wish of the liquor dealers and their allies, and the temper- 
ance question, in its manifold phases, had been freely dis- 
cussed. Quite a number who had fallen, through dissipation, 
had been redeemed and were leading lives of soberness and 
industry, while many homes of the poorer classes had been 
visited and aid given to those who were found the most des- 
titute. So far the efforts to reform had been mainly on the 
line of moral suasion; but while much had been accom- 
plished, while many drunkards had been reclaimed, many 
homes of sadness and misery turned into cheery habitations 
of gladness and peace, and while a strong moral sentiment 
concerning the heinousness of the liquor trade had been de- 
veloped, yet the conviction that all had not been done that 
might be done — that the result of all these efforts, taken as a 
whole, fell far short of the desired end, this conviction per- 
sistently pressed its way into the hearts of many, and found 
expression in the sentiment, which rapidly grew, that a more 
aggressive line of policy must henceforth be pursued. Some 
thought that they ought to resort to the ballot box and elect, 
or try to elect, at the municipal election which was soon to 


110 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


be held, a no-license excise board. Then there were others 
who felt rather timid at this advance move, and doubted its 
practicaoility. It was determined, however, that a public 
meeting should be held at Jackson’s hall, and if a majority 
were in favor of this course, they would freely acquiesce 
and most heartily co-operate. 

Who shall say that this radical movement was not in the 
right direction? The conflict between right and wrong — 
between God and Baal,; Christ and Belial; between social 
vice and social safeguard — can never be reduced to the level 
of a comedy. War, whether physical or moral, can never 
be conducted as a holiday picnic. These ‘reformers felt that 
a great moral achievement could never be permanently estab- 
lished by mere sentiment alone. They discovered the true 
secret of all permanent reforms: that sentiment, to be lasting 
and effective, must be indissolubly connected with the strong 
power of law. 

On the night of the proposed meeting the people turned 
out in great numbers, and at an early hour the hall was 
densely packed. Deacon Pettibone was called upon to pre- 
side. The old gray -headed man, whose tall form was slightly 
bent by the weight of years, stepped forward and modestly 
said : 

“ Fellow Citizens: I accept this position solely in defer- 
ence to your wishes, for I had hoped that some one younger 
than myself would be called on to preside on this occasion. 
And yet, friends and fellow citizens, I heartily thank you for 
the honor you have conferred upon me. 

“ It is first necessary, I suppose, to briefly state the object 
of this gathering. It is well known to you all that we have 
for the last two years been holding temperance meetings 
regularly in this room once every month. During that time 
we have had much to encourage, and much also to discour- 
age. Many have been positively opposed to our efforts; 
others have looked on with an indifferent air; yet never for 
a moment have we had any thought of abandoning our work. 

“The special object of this meeting to-night is to take 
into consideration the feasibility of electing, or attempting to 
elect, at our next municipal election, an excise board which 


CHRIST OR BELIAL. 


Ill 


will be opposed to the granting of license. In speaking for 
myself I wish in brief to say that I am heartily in favor of 
such a movement. We have been making a special effort 
here to save the intemperate, but while this is the case men 
under the sanction of law have been permitted to carry 'on a 
traffic, the tendency of which is to undo all that we have 
done.” 

“ That’s so,” muttered Simon Jones, who was sitting nearly 
in front of the chairman, “ that’s so, and I’m getting tired 
of it.” 

“ And now, ladies and gentlemen, the meeting is open to 
you all, and I hope that there will be a free exchange of 
opinion on this important question. Elder Littleton is with 
us, and we shall all be glad to hear from him.” 

“ It’s not my purpose, Mr. Chairman,” responded the min- 
ister, “ to occupy your time with any lengthy remarks. I 
am here to-night more to listen than to talk. I hold ” he 
continued, “that it is our duty in this conflict, (for it is a 
conflict), to bring to our aid all the forces at our command. 
Before our victory can be complete we must have a perfect 
combination of law and sentiment. As soon as public senti- 
ment is educated to a proper height, law will follow as an 
inevitable result. I have been from the first, strongly iden- 
tified with this advance movement, and it is now my purpose 
to carry my efforts still further. I have in my church a large 
number of young persons, and it has been suggested that 
they be organized into a Temperance Society of their own. 
I have thought the matter over very caVefully, and have 
come to the conclusion that it must be done. 

“As to the wisdom of attempting to elect a ‘no license’ 
excise board, I shall leave that with others; but if such a 
ticket is placed in the field, you may rest assured that I shall 
vote for it, for I believe that it is every man’s duty to vote as 
he prays.” 

The minister had hardly resumed his seat before Mr. Bag- 
ley rose and said: 

“ Mr. Chairman, with your permission, I would like to 
make a few remarks.” 

“Certainly, sir, we shall be glad to hear from you.” 


112 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“ In the first place,” began the speaker, “ I want to state 
that I am in favor of temperance. I am opposed, as much as 
any one, to people making beasts of themselves by becoming 
drunkards, and yet there are a great many things about this 
new temperance reform that I can’t fall in with. For 
instance, I don’t like the idea of mixing up this question with 
politics. Now, you can’t legislate a man’s appetite out of 
him, any more than you can change his height or the color 
of his hair. Men always have wanted some kind of a stim- 
ulant or other, and I guess they always will. Then again, if 
you make a political question out of this, it will be the occa- 
sion of a great deal ‘of excitement in the community. Our 
town now is growing quite fast, and you ought not to do 
anything that would retard its progress. You, in carrying 
on your reform, have won a large number of friends and well- 
wishers, but just as soon as you couple your efforts with 
politics, a great many of these will turn against you. 

“ Then again, in v the granting of license, considerable 
money is brought into the town treasury, which, of course, 
helps to reduce our taxes. Possibly you may do away with 
the license system, but you can’t do away with the liquor 
traffic. And, sir, I hold that since we must have the one, 
let us not give up the other.” 

As soon as TIagley resumed his seat, some one in the audi- 
ence called out, “Jackson!” Instantly many others united 
in the call, and soon the cry of “Jackson!” “Jackson!” came 
from all parts of the room. 

“Shall I speak, Mr. Woodruff'?” said Jackson to his 
employer, who was sitting directly in front of him. 

“Yes, certainly, and take all the time you want, it’s early 
yet. And what do you say, Mary?” he remarked, turning 
quickly to his wife. 

“ Why, yes, no harm can come of it, that’s certain.” 

As Jackson rose to his feet, he was met with a round of 
applause, which put him at once in sympathy with his 
audience. 

“ I am somewhat surprised, Mr. Chairman,” he began, “at 
some of the statements made by the last speaker. He affirms 
that he is in favor of temperance, and yet he is opposed to 


CHRIST OR BELIAL. 


113 


our taking any legal steps against the sale of ardent spirits. 
He makes no defense in favor of the liquor traffic, for, in 
fact, none can be made. He only argues that because it ex- 
ists in the community, therefore we must quietly submit to it. 
Now, I ask, in all candor, what would be the result if we 
followed that same line of action in dealing with other evils? 
To illustrate: A highwayman enters this town and begins 
his depredations. Do you content yourselves in barring your 
doors and concealing your treasures? No; you invoke the 
strong arm of the law, and that man is arrested at once, and 
punished if found guilty. It is true that no amount of statu- 
tory enactment can change his disposition. He is at heart a 
desperado, whether in prison or out of it, but it is equally 
true that society, by the aid of statutory enactments, has 
protected itself in restraining and punishing the offender. 
We do not hold that we can legislate a liquor dealer into a tem- 
perance man; but we do argue that, through the aid of law we 
can prevent him from turning sober people into drunkards. 
I sometimes meet persons,” he continued, “who look upon 
the idea of prohibition as something entirely new, but if you 
will pause a moment you will see at a glance that there is 
nothing new in it. It is as old as civilization, and is in force 
all 'around us. Our laws prohibit gambling, and society is 
the better for it; they prohibit counterfeiting, and your money 
is held at its real value; and now if this principal can be 
applied in the crushing of two evils, why not in a third? If 
a majority of the people, for the best interests of society, can 
will that gambling and counterfeiting, shall be prohibited, 
they can also, and for the same reason, will that the manufac- 
ture and sale of ardent spirits shall be abolished. 

“Then again, the last speaker is opposed to our carrying 
this question into politics, for fear that it may disturb the 
quietness of this community. Well, if that is a valid argu- 
ment, why not apply it to other great questions? In every 
political campaign we discuss our foreign relations and our 
internal affairs, and yet no one is injured. 

“ The facts are, Mr. Chairman, there is no use of crying 
‘Peace! Peace!’ when there is no peace. In this commu- 
nity, as in every other throughout the land, theie is a direct 


114 


THE BANE OF RENDON. 


conflict between temperance and intemperance, prohibition 
and free rum, and this contest will never cease till one side 
or the other gains the mastery. 

When I came into this hall to-night” he continued, “I had 
no thought of taking any part in this discussion, but as I have 
been called upon, I feel in duty bound to state my honest 
convictions. That intemperance is the greatest evil that 
curses our fair land, none I think can deny. Its withering, 
blighting influence is seen in individuals, in homes, in com- 
munities, in States, and in the Nation as well. And now the 
question is, on which side in this conflict shall our influence, 
be cast — on the side of liberty or oppression? right, or 
wrong? temperance or intemperance? By the laws of this 
State, the question of license or no license must be deter- 
mined by the vote of the people. In view of this fact, then, 
let us combine our efforts, and demand that this demon, alco- 
hol, shall be driven from our midst!” 

As he uttered these words a thrill shot through the audi- 
ence. Cheer after cheer arose, drowning at times the voice 
of the speaker, who, rising at that moment, in the sublimity 
of his theme, seemed in his eloquence, to be transfigured. It 
was evident to all that Jackson was a changed man. His 
voice rang out in clarion tones in defense of the homes and 
firesides of the people, and the effect of his speech w r as such 
that his audience, lifted to the highest pitch of excitement, 
rose to their feet and moved toward the speaker. Some 
laughed, some shouted, and others wept. When he had 
concluded his speech, they crowded around him in great 
numbers, shaking his hand and congratulating him on his 
effort, and wishing him God-speed in his endeavors to save 
others. But within this group, and clinging close to his side, 
with her face all suffused with tears and light and joy, stood 
his little wife, the happiest of them all. 

When order was partially restored, Mr. Woodruff' rose and 
introduced the following preamble and resolutions 

“ Whereas, The sale of intoxicating liquors as a beverage 
is an evil, and ought, by every lawful means, to be suppress- 
ed; and, 


CHRIST OR BELIAL. 


115 


“ Whereas, we must determine for ourselves whether this 
traffic shall be legalized or abolished; therefore, 

“ Resolved, that we, at our next municipal election, will 
vote only for those candidates who are opposed to the grant- 
ing of license.” 

This motion was put by the chairman, and unanimously 
carried, with much cheering. 

As the audience was passing out of the hall, Elder Little- 
ton turned to Mr. Woodruff and said: 

“ There is to be a meeting of our young people to-morrow 
night at the parsonage. Can you be with us?” 

“ Yes, sir, unless something interferes more than I know of 
at present.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


TWO PLEDGES. 

Late in the afternoon of the day following the events 
referred to in the previous chapter, George Woodruff sat 
alone in his office, watching through the window at the rear 
of his desk the last rays of the sun as it tipped the hill tops 
to the east of the village. AW work for the day was at an 
end. The quarry hands had left for their homes at least an 
hour before, and everything was still and quiet. Presently, 
and though suddenly recollecting himself, he turned to his 
desk and read half aloud a letter which lay before him. 

“ Boston, Mass., Oct. ist, iS — . 

t( Mr. George Woodruff; 

u Dear Sir: — I take this early opportunity of inviting 
you to spend your next Christmas with us in Boston. There 
is always a lull in the market at that season of the year, so 
you cannot ask to be excused under the plea of pressure of 
business. My father’s health is much better than when I 
last wrote you, but he does not pretend to do business of any 
kind. Almost every day he drives down to the office and 
spends an hour or so; and frequently, when the weather is 
favorable, rides out and calls on his old friends. He is very 
anxious to see you, and joins me in this invitation. As I 
have informed you before, he is of the opinion, that he and 
your father were at one time partners together. When you 
were down last he intended to speak to you about it, but as 
we were very busy just then, no good opportunity presented 
itself. Do not fail to pay us a visit at the time referred to. 

“ Yours truly, 

“ H. Andrews.” 


TWO PLEDGES. 


117 


After reading this letter he folded it carefully and laid it 
away, passed out of the office and strolled leisurely along 
until he reached the farther side of the quarry. “ Well,” he 
thought, as he glanced at the huge blocks of marble lying all 
around him, “ after all I have no right to be discouraged or 
even to complain. Here’s a good business, and all paid for, 
and it’s growing better every day.” 

From this channel his thoughts somehow gradually drifted 
out into another. Now that he was permanently located, 
why not choose for himself a companion? This was an im- 
portant question, and one that required the most careful con- 
sideration. Among the many young ladies of his acquaint- 
ance there was one that filled his ideal more perfectly than 
any other, and that was the one he first met by chance on 
the street, in Boston. At the time of their acquaintance, as 
has already been stated, he was informed that she was 
already pledged to another. Since his sad death she had 
appeared at times quite lonely, and in his own mind he had 
no difficulty in divining the reason. And so, with these 
thoughts, he turned in the gathering shadows and walked 
leisurely along until he reached the 'home of his friend and 
pastor, Elder Littleton. 

Here he was kindly welcomed, and was shown at once 
into the parlor, which was nearly filled with young people, 
and among these was Miss Emily Du Bois. 

Strange, he thought, that they should so unexpectedly meet, 
and just at a time, too, when he has been thinking about her. 

During the hour that followed she chatted pleasantly with 
himself and others, and there was such a gentleness yet a 
dignity in her manner, a peculiar charm in all she said and 
did which so impressed him that he was almost compelled to 
admit that he was in love with her. 

“ Do you think that this society can be of any real benefit 
to any one?” she was asked by a young lady who was stand- 
ing near her. 

“ Certainly I do, or I would not be willing to join it.” 

“ Yes, but it seems just a little out of place to see young 
ladies having anything to do with temperance; don’t you 
think so?” 

H 


118 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“There was a time when I thought so,” she answered, 
u but not now.” 

When the company had all gathered, Mr. Littleton rose, 
and advancing to a table near the center of the room s&id : 

“ My young friends, I am glad to welcome so many of you 
to my home. As a minister I have always tried to keep in 
sympathy with the young people of my church and congre- 
gation, and to know that I have your best wishes is a prize 
which I esteem more highly than silver and gold. Then 
again, it is my earnest desire to be of some benefit to you. 
You are, each, one of you, laying the foundation of a charac- 
ter which is to last not only in this world, but in the next. To 
willingly afford you and others in this great work all the 
assistance in my power, is the one great object of my stay 
among you. 

“ The special object of this gathering, as you are all aware, 
is to organize a young people’s temperance society. To 
many this may seem of but little importance, but to my mind 
it means a great deal. You ought, I am fully persuaded, to 
be thoroughly grounded in the principles of temperance. 
You will then not only be saved from the evils of the wine 
cup, you can be of much assistance in the carrying on of 
this great work of reform. 

“ I have before me a pledge, which all who become mem- 
bers of this society are expected to sign. And now those of 
you who are willing to unite with us in this movement can 
do so at once.” 

One after another came forward and signed the pledge, and 
as Miss Du Bois advanced to the table for that purpose, to 
Wood r uft' she appeared more ^charming than ever before; 
and as she laid down the pen, after affixing her signature, 
and stepped away to make room for another, there flashed in 
upon his whole being a pleasant and yet awful thought, and 
that was, that somehow he was in love with this woman 
and could not help it. To minutely describe the feelings 
and emotions which crowded in upon him that evening 
would be extremely difficult. Shortly after this first thrill, 
or ecstacy, there came a sense of deep depression; that he 
was in love, there could be no doubt, but would he be loved 


TWO PLEDGES. 


119 


in return ? At one moment he was inclined to be quite talka- 
tive, and the next he preferred to be silent. At one moment 
he would see and hear much of what was going on around 
him, at the next he was oblivious to almost everything except 
the conflicting emotions of his own heart. 

About nine, or half past, some of the company began 
leaving, and as Miss Du Bois signified her intention of doing 
the same, Mr. Woodruff asked for the pleasure of becoming 
her escort, which request was modestly granted. 

Some perhaps in perusing these pages may turn indiffer- 
ently away, affirming that this narrative is degenerating into 
a mere love story. To such we answer, the fault is not ours. 
We must describe life as it is, and not as we would like to 
have it. The story of wooing and winning is as old as the 
race, and like the woof in the web, winds in and out through 
all the pages of history. Jacob served seven years for Rachel, 
and it seemed but a few days to him for the love he had for 
her. Isaac kissed Rebecca and lifted up his voice and wept. 
These events, though centuries old, have never faded from 
human view, nor never will. He is to be pitied who has 
never loved, for love is the sunrise of the soul. It is immor- 
tal ; it is etern il ; it is the divinest expression for that which 
is deepest and best and holiest in our nature. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

PROHIBITION OR FREE WHISKEY — WHICH ? 

As might be expected, on the night preceeding the munici- 
pal election, strange and disgraceful scenes were enacted at 
Heilman’s hotel. By eight o’clock quite a number of those 
whp were in the habit of frequenting bar-rooms had dropped 
in and by nine, or half-past, the place was pretty well crowded, 
The landlord was more jovial than usual, and was ready to 
extend credit to any one who asked for it. Several took 
advantage of this, and not only drank themselves, but invited 
their friends to drink with them. Once during the evening 
every man in the room was invited, at Heffman’s expense, to 
sample a fresh brand of liquor which he had just ordered for 
the express accommodation of a few of his best customers. 
Of course, by this free use of liquors, as will be readily seen,, 
it was not long before the crowd became wild and uproar- 
ous. The lumes of alcohol, the dense clouds of tobacco 
smoke, the coarse laugh, the curses of half-drunken men — all 
this went to make up a scene which no right-minded person 
could look upon without utter disgust. And yet, strange as 
it may seem, there were men there that night whose taste had 
become so perverted, and whose conscience so benumbed, 
that they eagerly entered upon, and even anxiously looked 
forward to, revels like these as occasions for their highest 
enjoyment. 

“ Isn’4: it about time, Axley that you gave the boys a talk?” 
asked the landlord, in a rather casual way, as the former, in 
company with Jim Markham, stepped up to the bar and 
called for liquor, 

“ Perhaps it is, Heffman, you know I am always ready for 
a speech.” # 


PROHIBITION OR FREE WHISKY — WHICH? 


121 


“ Well, you had better begin at once, I think. It’s after 
ten now, and some of these fellows will be leaving for home 
if you don’t.” 

“ Yes, and the rest will be too drunk to listen,” interposed 
Markham, with a low, chuckling laugh. 

“ Now, Jim,” replied Axley, “you keep still, Heffman and 
I will attend to these fellows. “ If you expect to handle a 
crowd,” he continued, “ You must be sure and have them 
feeling well, if you don’t, you are apt to fail. Most of these 
men, when they came here to-night, were out of sorts with 
themselves and everybody else, and if you had said anything 
to them then about voting for our candidates to-morrow, 
they’d have told you very likely, to mind your own business. 
Look at them now, though, why, they’re as jolly a set of 
fellows as you ever laid your eyes on, and you just see how 
quickly I can make them hurrah for our side.” 

With this, he stepped upon a bench near the bar and 
called out quickly: 

“Gentlemen, attention! Attention! gentlemen! I want 
to make few remarks.” 

But the gentlemen, unheeding this* request, kept on with 
their wild, uproarous merriment. 

“Friends!” interposed Heffman, with his sharp, shrill 
voice, “ be quiet for a few moments, will you, Mr. Axley is 
going to make us a speech.” 

The request of the landlord had the desired effect, the 
crowd quieted down, with a curse here and there, and Axley 
proceeded with his harangue. 

He began by saying that he had been a voterfin this town 
nigh on twenty years, and had had something to do wi|h a 
good many elections. He had seen the people very much 
excited as to who should be their next President, and at times 
they had gone almost wild over their candidate for Governor. 
“And}ou remember, too, what a time we had some three 
years ago over the race for sheriff Why, it seemed as though 
every man quit work for a week before the election, and the 
friends of the man that won didn’t do anything but shout 
and rejoice for a week after. Then there was the school- 


122 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


house question — what a time we had over that only last 
summer!” 

“ Yes! and you didn’t want them to build it, either/’ mut- 
tered little Martin, as he slid through the crowd and passed 
into an adjoining room, 

“ But now, gentlemen, there is a new question forcing 
itself upon us, and to-morrow you and I must vote upon it. 
I’ve seen it coming for a long time, and I’m glad it’s here ” 

“ What question do you mean, Axley?” asked one of the 
company. 

‘‘ I mean, sir, this temperance question,” 

“Down with the temperance fools!” shouted a seedy indi- 
vidual, who, at that moment, was so much under the influ- 
ence of liquor that he could only stand to his feet by clinging 
to the end of the counter. 

‘‘ That’s what I say, my friend, responded Axley, “but the 
question now is, How are we going to do it? Let me state 
to you, fellow-citizens, a few facts as I think they really are. 
We have had in this community, for a long time, a few rabid 
temperance people. As long as they were weak in numbers 
they kept very quiet; but they’ve gone on increasing, until 
they now fancy they are strong enough to rule the whole 
town. They are not content by quietly enjoying their own 
principles and leaving other folks to do the same, but they 
want to make temperance people out of all of us.” 

“ They will have a nice time making a temperance man 
out of you, Axley!” exclaimed one of the crowd. 

Here a laugh ensued at Axley’s expense, and he retorted 
by saying: 

“ Well, my friend, if they can’t save me, what’s to become 
of you? You haven’t drawn a sober breath for the last six 
months — everybody knows that.” 

Here was another laugh, and Markham called out: 

“Good for Axley!” 

“ And now, fellow-citizens, the point I’m coming to is this: 
At our election to-morrow these temperance folks will do 
their best to elect a no-license excise board. Shall we, as 
free citizens of this glorious republic, allow a lot of fanatics, 
aided by a few reformed drunkards, as they call them — men 


PROHIBITION OR FREE WHISKEY WHICH ? 


123 


who hadn’t sense enough to drink when they liked, and let it 
alone when they liked — dictate to us what we shall eat or 
wha: we shall drink?” 

“ No ! no !” shouted the crowd, “ never! never !” 

“ Well, then, if you don’t want your liberties taken away 
from you, you must stand up for them. Let’s be on hand 
to-morrow morning, very early, and vote for the license can- 
didates — and that’s not all — let’s do all we can to persuade 
our neighbors to vote with us. We must see to it, my 
countrymen, that we have a fair vote and an honest count, for 
there is no telling what our opponents will do if you give 
them the chance. Votes, I am sorry to say, have been bought 
in the past, and these temperance fellows will be none too 
good to throw out their money very freely if they think that 
they can win by it. And now gentlemen, mark what I tell 
you !” exclaimed Axley, as he shook his long, bony finger at 
the crowd; “mark what I tell you! If the people in this 
community will only stand up for their rights, to-morrow, we 
will win a great and glorious victory. This is all I have got 
to say just at present. Soirfc time in the future you will hear 
from me again.” 

“ Hurrah for the license candidates?” shouted Jim Mark- 
ham, and they did hurrah. For fully five minutes nothing 
could be heard but the wild shoutings of this motley, unthink- 
ing crowd, crazed by liquor. 

“ Didn’t I handle them right, landlord?” asked Axley, in a 
very triumphant manner, as he placed his empty glass back 
upon the counter. 

“Yes, you did, and I wish every voter in the town could 
have heard your speech.” 

About this time the bar-room door opened, and Mr. Bagley, 
accompanied by Henson, the proprietor of the new hotel, 
quickly entered. They spoke to no one, but passed at once 
into the adjoining room, where they were soon followed by 
Heffman and Axley. 

“ Well, gentlemen,” began Henson, “ what we do here 
to-night must be done quickly, for I must get back to my 
hotel as soon as possible. What’s the prospect for the elec- 


124 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


tion to-morrow Heftman? Are we going to be defeated, or 
shall we carry the day ? ” 

Heffman, who, from the buoyant effects of Axley’s speech, 
and the exciting influence of his own liquor, was just then in 
a high state of hopefulness, quickly answered : 

“No, we’re not going to be defeated! We’ll beat them, 
two to one, see if we don’t !” 

“ I hope so,” answered Henson, “ but it don’t look that 
way to me. What’s your opinion, Axley? You have had a 
better chance than any of us to find out how the people feel.” 

“ Well, gentlemen, before I can give you my opinion, there 
is one individual in this room that must be requested to leave 
it.” 

“ Who is it? asked Heftman, considerably excited.” 

“Well, sir, it’s that hostler of yours, asleep yonder in the 
corner.” 

All laughed at this sudden turn except the landlord, who 
rushed across the room, seized Martin by the elbow and 
began shaking him. 

“ Here, you lazy scoundrel ! oift of this and get to bed !” 

Martin’s predisposition to slowness, however, was not to 
be so easily overcome, for in spite of Heftman’s shaking and 
tugging and scolding, he rose up slowly, yawned once or 
twice, gave the sleeve of his coat an extra roll, pulled his cap 
down over his eyes, and sauntered out of the room. 

“ So he couldn’t give his opinion till I’d left,” chuckled 
Martin. “ Well, I’ll give him my opinion some day, and 
when he ain’t looking for it, either. And Heffman thinks 
they'll beat, two to one. Perhaps they will, and perhaps 
they won’t. Woodruff will show them fellows where they’re 
standing before night comes, I tell you, see if he don’t !” 

‘‘ And now, gentlemen,” began Axley, settling himself 
back in his chair and looking very wise, “ I am ready to give 
you my opinion. This campaign is a very peculiar one, and 
to tell you the truth, I have very grave doubts about our 
winning.” 

“ That’s a strange way to talk, Axley,” interposed Heffman. 
“ If that’s your opinion, why didn’t you say so when you 
made your speech?” 


PROHIBITION OR FREE WHISKY WHICH? 


125 


“ Because, sir, it wasn’t policy to say it. When you have 
had as muclf to do with politics as I have, you’ll learn a few 
lessons you’ll not forget very soon. When a general is com- 
pelled to fight a battle,” he continued, 44 and, to his utter 
amazement, finds that the enemy is too strong for him, he 
doesn’t go out among his soldiers and begin talking defeat — 
not a bit of it — but he talks about liberty, and glory, and 
dying for their country, and all that kind of stuff. And so, 
when you go into politics, you must be very careful what 
you say to the rank and file; but when leaders come to- 
gether, as we have here to-night, we must look at things as 
they really are. Now what are the facts in this canvass? I 
will state them very briefly as they appear to me. On the 
one side, we have a certain number of men who say that a 
no-license excise board shall be elected; on the other, we 
have a certain number who say that a license board shall be 
elected. Then again, there is another class who have not 
expressed themselves one way or the other. If they vote 
with the temperance crowd, we’ll lose; if they vote with us, 
we’ll win. That’s my opinion, gentlemen, in a nut-shell, and 
now, Henson, what do you think of the situation?” 

44 I don’t know what to think,” Henson replied. “ No 
two that I have talked with seem to have the same opinion. 
But,” he continued, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, 
“ how wt)uld it do to raise a campaign fund of a few hundred 
dollars and buy votes enough to turn the election in our 
favor. I’ll give a hundred dollars; what will you give, 
Heffman?” 

“ I’ll give another, and double it, too, if it will save us from 
defeat.” 

“ That game, gentlemen, is a little dangerous,” remarked 
Axley, rather dryly, 44 though I have seen it played 'a good 
many times very successfully. My finances are in such a 
state just at present that I can’t contribute anything myself, 
but whatever funds you wish to put in my hands shall be 
used to the best of my ability.” 

So far, during this interview Bagley had remained silent? 
but when asked what he would be willing to contribute, an- 
swered quickly, “Nothing.” Like the majority of narrow- 


126 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


minded men, he was naturally cowardly, and while he had 
but litcle scruple against the proposed plan, yet he was very 
loth to place himself in a position where the law might pos- 
sibly put its strong hand upon him. 

“ I don’t believe in this way of doing business,” he said. 

‘‘You musn’t be too over conscientious in such times as 
these, Bagley,” interposed Axley, with a shrug of his 
shoulders. 

“Well, sir, I am not; but I’ll have nothing to do with a 
scheme that’s sure to bring me into trouble, if found out. 
I’ve always been a good friend to the liquor men, and they 
know it, but then I must look to my own interests as well as 
theirs.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Henson, rising quickly to his feet, and 
with a disdainful look, “ I’m not caring much about this elec- 
tion, one way or the other. The whole town seems to be 
made up of old fogies, and I’m getting tired of it. If I can’t 
sell liquor here, I’ll very soon find a place where 1 can, that's 
certain,” and with this he hurried away. 

“ This is too bad,” muttered Heffman, half piteously, half 
angrily, as he pushed through the throng of drunken men 
that still crowded the bar-room, “ that a man can’t carry on 
a quiet, respectable business, without being interfered with 
in this way.” 

The morning of the election opened with a chilly, drizzling 
rain, as many such mornings have before and since, Neither 
rain or cold, however, seemed to chill the ardor of the various 
candidates or their earnest supporters^ for as soon as the polls 
were declared open the struggle for the mastery quickly 
began. Simon Jones was the first to deposit his ballot, and 
then moved around through the crowd, making a good use 
of his inquisitive faculties. Axley was early on the ground, 
and entered into the contest with a great deal of zest. About 
nine o’clock he collected together in one group some twenty 
voters, and then led them up to the open window, where 
they deposited their ballots for the license commissioners. 
George Woodruff had so arranged his business that he could 
give the whole day in looking after the interests of the no- 
license candidates. He and Axley several times measured 


PROHIBITION OR FREE WHISKY WHICH? 


127 


lances, but his cool manner and ready answers generally 
nonplused the pettifogger. Heffman pleaded piteously with 
many of his neighbors to vote for his candidate, for said 
he: 

“If you stop the*sale of liquor, what’s to become of me in 
my old days?” 

Little Martin came up and exercised his right of franchise, 
and as he passed by Woodruff said in a low tone: 

“ They all think that I’m voting for the whisky men, but I 
ain’t, I tell you,” 

Among all who gathered there that day, none were more 
deeply interested than Samuel Jackson. Several of his old 
friends were undecided as to which way they would vote, 
but when he told them in a quiet and unostentatious way, of 
what he believed to be their duty, they fell in at once with 
the prohibitionists. 

Dr. Smallson was called away once or twice, but hurried 
back as soon as possible. 

Henson, elegantly attired, stood around the poll by the 
hour, but did not take that interest in the election that one 
would naturally suppose. As Mr. Du Bois came up, he 
handed him a ticket, at the same time saying: 

“ Here, Mr. Du Bois, take this, you have not voted yet, 
have you?” 

“Thank you,” was the reply, “ I’ll select my own ticket,” 
and then, turning to Dr. Smallson, who was standing at his 
right, said in a casual way: 

“Well, Doctor, you are having an exciting election, are 
you not?” 

“ Indeed we are, neighbor Du Bois, and I’m glad that you 
are here to help us on with it. Have you voted yet?” 

“ No, sir, I have not had* the time.” 

“ How will my ticket suit you?” and he offered him a 
white slip, on which were printed the names of the no-license 
candidates. He looked them over very carefully, and then 
answered: 

“ Well, Doctor, you and I have traveled side by side in 
politics for a long time, and we’ll not part company even 
now, I think. Understand me, I’m no rapid temperance 


128 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


man, but I have come to the conclusion, from what I have 
seen and read, that our town.will be better off without liquor 
than with it, therefore I shall vote for its expulsion.” 

At ten o’clock the election was decidedly in favor of the 
liquor men; at eleven there was a falling off among their 
supporters; by twelve the parties were about evenly bal- 
anced; but between one and two an event occurred which 
completely demolished the opposition. 

The quarry hands, some ninety strong, came up in a body, 
headed by Murphy, and deposited their ballots for the tem- 
perance candidates. Several efforts were made by Axley 
and others to induce them to change their tickets, but their 
efforts were futile. From that time on the voting was nearly 
all one way, and when five o’clock came, and the ballots 
were counted, it was found that the no-license excise board 
was elected by a majority of nearly three to one. 


CHAPTER XX. 


ANOTHER ELECTION. 

« 

There was great rejoicing among the temperance people, 
and a corresponding depression among the liquor men, over 
the result of the election, The friends of the victorious can- 
didates, however, did not give vent to their feelings in the 
firing of anvils, or in loud and boisterous talking, but con- 
tented themselves with hearty congratulations, and then 
returned to their homes with that inward satisfaction which 
always follows the performance of a duty, especially under 
difficult circumstances. There was only one of their number 
who seemed in any way inclined to be over demonstrative, 
and that was Simon Jones. As soon as the official vote was 
announced he started at once for home, walking a part of the 
way and running the rest. He coukfint find time to open 
the front gate, but clearing it at a bound, hurried into the 
house, seized his wife round the waist and kissed her half a 
dozen times, rushed wildly round the room for a minute or 
more, then came to a halt in front of the old fire place, lifted 
his hands and exclaimed: 

“The victory is ours! bless the Lord, the victory is ours !!” 

“Why, Simon!” exclaimed his wife, as she stood in the 
middle of the floor, laughing till the tears ran down her 
cheeks, “ what ails you? — you are crazy, ain’t you?” 

“ No, Polly, not a bit of it. I’ve hurried home to tell you 
that we have carried the election, and I am so full of joy 
that I must give vent to it in some way, or I can’t live.” 

“Well, come out to supper, then,” she replied, assuming a 
more .serious mood, “ a good cup of tea will help quiet your 
nerves, I think.” 


130 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


Let us leave this happy couple to enjoy their evening meal 
while we turn to other events which must be told to make 
our story complete. 

At the close of the election George Woodruff went di- 
rectly to his home, and after supper sat by the fire for an hour 
or more quietly resting and conning over the events of the 
day. He had entered into this canvass with an earnestness 
which is possible only # to those who engage with a fixed de- 
termination in any project, and now that the battle had been 
fought and the victory won, there came to his mind a pleas- 
ant satisfaction — a sense of relief such as he had not felt be- 
fore for days, and even weeks. 

“ Well, well,” he thought after a while, as he glanced at 
his watch, “ it’s all over, and I’m glad of it ; if I call on Miss 
Du Bois to-night though, I must go at once, or it will be too 
late.” 

With this he rose from his seat a by the fire, and passed out 
into the street, walked leisurely along till he came to the 
elegant home of Judson Du Bois, rang the bell and was 
shown into the parlor. 

The path of love, as perchance we all may know, is sel- 
dom straight, but often circuitous, rugged and interrupted 
here and there with many difficulties. W oodruff’s experience 
on that enchanting highway, so far was all of a piece with 
the haps and mishaps of that innumerable majority who 
have traveled the same road before him. 

During the last three months he had called many times on 
this young lady, and had always been kindly received. And 
several times also on fine days they had gone out riding to- 
gether. The more he had been in her society, the more he had 
learned to love and admire her ; but somehow he had never 
been able to direct the trend of their thoughts into that channel 
which would permit him to tell her all that was in his heart. 
In all her words and actions there seemed to be an indefin- 
able, but strongly felt something, which plainly said, “ thus 
far and no farther.” which to an ardent nature like Wood- 
ruff’s was hard to endure. But as all young men in love are 
more or less hopeful, so he resolved to patiently wait, trust- 


ANOTHER ELECTION. 


131 


ing that future developments would be more favorable to his 
suit. 

“I am glad you have called, Mr. Woodruff,” said Miss 
Emily, as she came gracefully tripping into the parlor a few 
moments later, and at the same time extending her hand in 
token of welcome, “papa and mamma are both out, and 
everything seems so still and quiet when I am here alone.” 

“ Thank you/’ he answered, “ these pleasant calls help to 
smooth down the rough places in life, and especially so, 
when one’s reception is frank and hearty as yours is to- 
night,” he added gracefully. 

“The rough places have been quite numerous to-day, I 
think from what papa told us at dinner.” 

“ Indeed they have, but by the law of contrast, they make 
the smooth ones all the more enjoyable.” 

To this she gave a pleasant smile, and then asked: 

“What’s the result of the election to-day, Mr. Woodruff? 
I know that ladies are not supposed to take much interest in 
such matters, but somehow I am greatly interested in this 
contest, and can’t help it.” 

“Well, I am glad that you are interested, as I think that 
every lady should be, and I am glad to inform you that the 
temperance people have triumphed by a vote of nearly three 
to one.” 

“ Oh, that is glorious, is’nt it!” exclaimed Miss Emily, her 
large blue eyes fairly sparkling with delight, “ I can go back 
to Boston now feeling much, more satisfied than if it had 
gone the other way.” 

This last statement was received with mingled feelings. 
He was more than pleased, in fact he was delighted with this 
spontaneous expression of approval, but sadly disappointed 
in the thought of her going away. 

After this the conversation turned to other topics, and 
before Mr. Woodruff was really aware of it dr Miss Emily 
either, the evening was well nigh spent. In the glow of 
conversation, the indefinable barrier would fade away, giving 
a sweet familiarity to the charm t)f her company, but would 
again and again abruptly appear, and all for the time would 
be as before. As the hour for his leaving drew near, stronger 


132 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


grew upon him the desire to tell this woman of his love and 
ask her to love him in return. 

44 I am very sorry, Miss Du Bois,” he said, after a short 
pause in the conversation, “ to know that you are 'going to 
leave us. I shall miss you very much, I know r I shall.” 

“ I did’nt know that anybody would miss me particularly,” 
she replied very pleasantly “outside of our own family.” 

Woodruff did not heed this answer, or if he did, he made 
no reply. For fully a minute he sat gazing at her picture on 
the easel on the opposite side of the room, and then turning 
quickly and with a look of deep earnestness said: 

44 There are some things on my heart, Miss Du Bois, that 
I would like very much to tell you before we separate. I 
have called to see you several times with this special object 
in view, but somehow a fitting opportunity has never seemed 
to present itself.” 

44 1 am sure, Mr. Woodruff, I have always listened very 
attentively to all that you have said.” 

44 True,” he answered, 44 but there is a wide difference be- 
tween what I have said, and what I wish to say. You re- 
member, of course,” he continued “when we first met by 
chance on the street corner in Boston?” 

44 Yes, and if you had’nt come to my rescue I don’t know 
what would have been the result,” said she gravely, “for I 
was, for some reason, completely bewildered.” 

“ Well, that night, as I have told you before, I saw you 
through the open window, and heard you sing* to friends in 
the parlor. Next I was introduced to you in this very room, 
and for the last few months I have sought every suitable 
opportunity to be in your society. At the time that I first 
saw you there was something in your person and manner 
that deeply impressed me. That impression has gone on 
widening and deepening until it has developed into an intense 
love! 

44 You may feel offended perhaps at this sudden declara. 
tion, though I really hope you won’t, for what I have said 
has come from the very depths of my being.” 

“No,” she answered. 44 1 am not offended; but, Mr. Wood- 
ruff, if you have had for me from our first acquaintance this 


ANOTHER ELECTION. 


133 


intense regard of which you speak, why is it that you have 
never shown any special preference for me till within the 
last few months? Genuine affection, I think, is something 
that can’t be hid, but must show itself either in word or 
look.” 

“Very true,” he said earnestly, taking her by the hand, 
“ but what else could I do? At the time of our first ac- 
quaintance there was a barrier before me. As long as that 
was there I mastered my feelings, but now everything is 
reversed, my feelings have the mastery of me.” 

“Really, Mr. Woodruff, I don’t understand you.” 

“Then I will explain more minutely, with your permis- 
sion.” 

“ Certainly,” she answered, “ if you so desire.” 

“ Well, about the time that I was first invited to your home 
I was informed that you were engaged, and were soon to be 
married.” 

“Your informant” she quickly replied, dropping his hand, 
“ had no right to make any . such statement, for so far in life 
I have never been engaged to any one.” 

“Well, well.” He muttered something as though one was 
slowly waking out of a strange, perplexing dream, “ it was 
only a rumor, then, after all. But tell me, Miss Emily,” his 
face assuming a more earnest look than ever, “ tell me, with 
all my blundering, have I any reason to hope?” 

She paused a moment, and then in a low, sweet tone, 
gently answered: 

“ Really, I know of no reason why you should despair.” 

In an instant all barriers were removed, and he was lifted 
into an ecstacy of joy. 

Just then, unhappily, the door bell rang, which call was 
quickly repeated, and Miss Du Bois, with a tender glance, 
said: # 

“Excuse me, Mr. Woodruff, I think that’s papa and 
mamma.” 

“ Will you leave for Boston soon?” he asked a few mo- 
ments later as they stood in the hall. 

“To-morrow, probably, if not, next day.” 

I 


134 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“ I expect to be in Boston myself about Christmas time; 
if I knew your number, and if it were agreeable, I should 
like to call.” 

“ I should be pleased to see you at any time,” she peasantly 
answered, “ thirty-seven is the number, corner of High and 
Grand.” 

“ I shall have no trouble in finding the place,” he replied 
with a laugh, “ I have passed it before. You may expect me 
on Christmas eve.” And with this he bade her good night 
and took his departure. 

The clouds that hung over the sky in the morning had all 
passed away, and the great stars shone out in all theirbrig'ht- 
ness, and Woodruff hurried along towards his home in a 
state of joyful ecstacy such as he had never before expe- 
rienced. 

She did not tell me that she loved me, and yet she assured 
me that I had no reason to despair, and is not that its equiv- 
alent?” She is the only woman in all the world that I ever 
loved; the only one I ever care to.” 

“ Was that Mr. Woodruff, Emily, that just went out?” 
asked her mother, a few moments later.” 

“ Yes, mamma, and I want you guess what happened while 
he was here to-night.” 

“ He has’nt been proposing to you I hope, has he?” 

“ Well, no,” she answered blushingly, “not exactly that, 
but he told me he loved me.” 

Why, Emily, I’m astonished!” exclaimed her mother ex- 
citedly, “ surely you never can get the consent of your mind 
to marry that man!” 

“ What’s the matter here!” asked Mr. Du Bois, who just 
then had entered the room. 

“Why, father,” replied his wife, “only think of it! Mr. 
^Woodruff has been making love to Emily, and I do believe 
that she is more than half inclined to give him encourage- 
ment.” 

To this Mr. Du Bois made no direct reply, but slowly 
advanced toward where his daughter was standing, then 
putting his arm around her neck, playfully asked: 


ANOTHER ELECTION. 


135 


“ So Mr. Woodruff has been making love to you while we 
were gone, has he?” 

“ Yes sir,” she demurely answered. 

“And mamma is of the opinion that you are inclined to 
encourage him, how’s that?” 

For her reply she nestled her blushing face close down 
upon her father’s shoulder, but uttered not a word. 

“Well, Emily, all I’ve got to say just now is, that if you 
and Mr. Woodruff have fallen in love with each other, I 
shan’t object. We don’t want to get rid of you, not a bit of 
it, but of course we can’t expect to keep you with us always, 
and I don’t know of any young man who, in my judgment, 
would make you a better husband than George Woodruff.” 

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Du Bois, “this is cruel; you 
have both turned against me; bring me my Cologne quick, 
or I shall faint.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

The morning before Christmas come at last, and with it a 
heavy fall of snow, whose white mantle covered hill and 
vale, street and house-top, and even clung to the limbs of the 
trees, and now and then, in fitful gusts, swept hither and 
yon, as though anxious to find a quiet resting place. The 
falling snow-flakes had carried with them every particle of 
impurity, and the air, though somewhat chilly, was still sweet 
and invigorating. It was just such a morning as one wishes 
to see, especially at this season of the year, when peace and 
good-will beams forth upon the faces of those we meet. 

George Woodruff, as he came out from his home and 
walked briskly along toward the depot, with the intention of 
taking the cars for Boston, quickly caught the inspiration of 
the morning, and inwardly resolved that lie would leave be- 
hind him all business cares, and give himself over, for a few 
days at least, to rest and recreation. As he neared the depot 
he saw, just ahead of him, little Martin, who was tugging 
along under the weight of a heavy satchel, his small frame 
weaving in and out and threatening to give way under the 
load it was bearing. He was enabled, however, after a few 
moments more of hard tugging, to place the burden down at 
the door of the waiting room, after which he walked leisurely 
back to the edge of the platform, and wished Mr. Woodruff 
a good morning as he came up the steps. 

“Good morning, Martin,” he replied. “Is the train on 
time, do you know?” 

“It’s ten minutes late, sir, so the agent says; and now, Mr. 
Woodruff, if you are not in too much of a hurry, I’ve some- 
thing I’d like to tell you.” 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


137 


“ All right, Martin; I’ll have the time to listen, I think.” 

“Well, sir, I got hold of some strange facts down at Heff- 
man’s last night. You see, I got tired of sitting around the 
bar-room and listening to those old topers, and so I went 
into the next room and laid down on a bench and tried to 
sleep. I hadn’t been there but a little while before who do 
you think came in and began talking?” 

“Really, Martin,” replied Woodruff, who was greatly 
amused at such a strange question, “ I haven’t the faintest 
idea.” 

“ t Well, sir, I’ll tell you. It was Heffman and Henson. It 
seems as though they had met there to lay their plans about 
the future, and they’re in a peck of trouble, I tell you,” and 
with this, Martin laughed till his little frame shook from head 
to foot. “ Henson, you see, he told Heffman that he had in- 
tended to go right on selling liquor just as he had always 
done, and if the temperance folks tried to interfere with him 
he would give them all the law they wanted. He says that 
he can stand a good lawsuit every six months, and then make 
money of his whisky. But — would you believe it, Mr. 
Woodruff? — Mr. Du Bois, so he says, wouldn’t lease him the 
hotel fo,r aqother year unless he would enter into writings 
not to sell, nor allow to be sold, any liquor on the ]3remises, 
so that shuts him off. Heffman he hain’t got as much light 
in him as the other fellow, but he’s going to keep on selling 
on the sly to his old customers. He is in hopes that by 
another year you will all get tired of watching him, and then 
they can get the law changed back just as it was before the 
last election. You had better believe I did’nt make much 
noise when they were talking, and I was ever so glad when 
they left the room without seeing me. They think that little 
Martin don’t know much,” he continued, giving the sleeves 
of his coat the necessary roll, “and perhaps I don’t, but then 
I know enough to watch those fellows, and I’m going to do 
it every time. If they sell liquor without a license, I’ll find 
it out, I tell you, and so will Samuel Jackson; and when he 
gets after them they’ll have trouble, see if they dont!” 

“Well, Martin,” replied Woodruff, quickly, as he heard 
the distant rumbling of the train, “I don’t blame you for 


138 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


hating the liquor traffic — it's the meanest in the world — but 
you mustn’t do anything wrong, though, in this matter, or 
you will regret it some day. 

“ No, I’ll not, sir, but I’ll watch ’em close, I tell you/’' 

With this, they separated, and in a few moments more the 
train glided into the depot, and Woodruff stepped on board 
and started for Boston. 

Seating himself by the window, he looked out upon the 
broad fields covered with snow and the long lines of white 
hills beyond them flashing in varied brilliancy as the kiss of 
the sunbeams on the snowflakes made them to glitter like 
diamonds on the brow of royalty. Presently his mind flew 
forward to the city where he was fast tending, and he won- 
dered what would be his reception. His partner, he knew, 
would be hearty in his greetings, and so would his father, 
but would Miss Du Bois? As these and other thoughts 
passed through his mind, the train swept on through snow- 
drifts, over valleys, around curves, through strips of wood- 
land, stopping at this station, and hurrying on to the next* 
until at last the conductor called out: 

“Boston! Change cars!” 

‘‘This way Mr. Woodruff,” called a voice, as be passed 
out of the depot, and turning to the right, he saw, standing 
by the side of a sleigh near the curbing, his partner, Henry 
Andrews. 

“So you have come at last have you?” said Mr. Andrews, 
warmly, as he gave him a hearty shake of the hand. Father 
was afraid that you would not get here. He thinks that there 
must be some great attraction in that little country town, or 
it would be easier to get you away from it.” 

“ Well, sir,” replied Woodruff, good-naturedly, “ here I am. 
I have left all my cares behind, and am now ready to partic- 
ipate in any recreation that a country gentleman is at liberty 
to engage in.” 

“That’s what I like to hear, Woodruff, so please take a 
seat in my sleigh, will you, and we’ll take a drive around 
town for an hour or so before dinner.” 

“ How is your father to-day, Mr. Andrews?” asked Wood- 
ruff, as he tucked the robes carefully around him. 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


139 


“He’s improving slowly, thank you. He is out to-day, 
making a call on an old friend of his, Dr. Blanchard, who is 
connected with the city asylum. We’ll drive around there 
after a little, and then we’ll all go home together.” 

What’s more enjoyable than a winter’s drive, even though 
it may be in the crowded streets of a great city. Here, there 
and everywhere are vehicles filled with persons who, like 
yourself, are intent upon pleasure. The restless horses crowd 
forward, impatient at restraint, yet ever obedient to the will 
of the driver, and while the music of the bells keeps time 
with the quick movement of their feet, the rocking of the 
sleigh makes you feel at times as though you were half gli- 
ding, half flying. Yonder is a corner around which you grace- 
fully swing, as a ship which suddenly changes her course to 
catch the breeze from the opposite quarter. From this street 
you are carried across to a broad avenue, along which you 
so pleasantly glide that for the moment you are almost 
tempted to wish for perpetual winter. The jingling of bells, 
the laugh of merry voices, the pleasant recognition of old 
friends, all go to make up a scene which to be thoroughly 
appreciated must first be enjoyed. Upon just such a scene 
George Woodruff and his partner heartily entered, and after 
an hour and a half or more of brisk driving, they came sud- 
denly to a halt, in front of a large stone building, somewhat 
back from the street, and leading up to which was a wide 
marble walk. 

“We’ll call here a moment,” said Andrews, as he quickly 
alighted from the sleigh. “Father will be up at the doctor’s 
office, waiting for us.” 

“So this is an asylum, is it?” remarked Woodruff, as the 
two passed up the walk together. 

Yes, sir, and strange sights are to be seen there, I assure 
you. If the doctor is not too busy, we’ll go through one of 
the wards, if you so desire, and then you can see for your- 
self.” 

“Your father is not in,” said a small, light-haired, nervous 
man, to whom Woodruff was introduced as Dr. Bell. “He 
and Dr. Blanchard are out for a drive, and he left word that 
if you called before his return, you were to wait for him.” 


140 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“That’s agreeable, I am sure,” replied Mr. Andrews. 

“And now, my friend and I would like very much to pass 
through one of the wards, if you have the time to go with 
‘us.” 

“ Certainly gentlemen, certainly ; come with me at once.” 

Through the center of the main building of the asylum ran 
a wide hall, on either side of which were large rooms, well 
lighted and ventilated. Within each of these rooms were 
one or more persons who had been deprived or partially de- 
prived of the greatest of earthly boons — that of reason. 
Somehow or in some way we can get along with the thou- 
sand ills and misfortunes of life, but when reason is dethroned 
we are like the ship in the storm, without compass or star, 
mast or rope. 

A few of the patients were quite young in years; others 
were old; some were laughing, as though they had not a 
care in the world; others were weeping and moaning, as 
though they had not a friend on earth; some were quite talk- 
ative, while others crouched back in a corner, as though 
anxious to be left alone; the faces of some were calm and 
composed; others had a wild, vacant look, while a few 
showed viciousness and revenge. 

“ Here, gentlemen,” said the physician, as they neared the 
farther end of the hall, “ is a peculiar case. We’ll not go in, 
as it might disturb her.” 

With this, he pulled aside the curtain to a small window, 
and there, on the opposite side of the room, with features 
wild and emaciated, and with hair prematurely grey, sat a 
woman. After a moment she arose and advanced slowly 
toward the window, at the same time muttering: 

“Rain! rain! nothing but rain!” 

A slight pause followed, and then, in a pleading, plaintive 
tone, she began: 

“ Come, husband! let’s leave this awful place! There is 
nothing here but misery and death! Dead! No! no! that 
can’t be! Yes, lie’s dead! They’ve killed him! Look! The 
blood is oozing from his mouth, and is running down upon 
the sheets! Oh, husband!” she piteously moaned, as she 
knelt once more in imagination by the bedside of her dead 


SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 


141 


companion, “don’t leave me! don’t leave me! What shall I 
do in this cold world, all alone, without you!” 

“That’s a sad case, gentlemen,” said the physician, as he 
closed the curtain. “ I was in hopes at one time that she 
would recover. There is no help now for her, I am afraid. 
She is failing every day.” 

Just then a messenger came hurriedly down the hall, with 
the information that Mr. Andrews had returned, and was 
waiting at the gate, and so, after wishing the doctor a good 
afternoon, and after a pleasant invitation to call again when 
convenient, they quickly withdrew. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


ONE CHRISTMAS. 

Human nature always mysterious, is an ever changing 
kaleidoscope, presenting an infinite variety of colors and 
delicate shadings according to circumstances, and he who 
would accurately delineate the subtleties of human charac- 
ter, must endeavor to penetrate the thought, and dwell upon 
those mental dispositions which produce it, as well as upon 
mere words and actions, which at best, but faintly represent 
our mental states. 

The late trip of Miss Du Bois to Boston had not been as 
highly satisfactory as she had hoped for before coming. True 
she had mingled quite freely in what is sometimes designated 
as the society of the fashionable world, but somehow 
the pleasures of this gilded circle failed to satisfy or even 
please. This spirit of lonesomeness was an occasion of em- 
barrassment to herself, and of wonder to her immediate 
friends, and especially her aunt, at whose home she was now 
a guest. 

“ Emily does’nt seem a bit as she used to,” remarked her 
aunt one day to her husband, “why in her school days, she 
was as lively as a cricket, but now nothing seems to please 
her quite as much as being left entirely to hereself. There is 
a reason for this, that’s certain, and I’m going to find it out 
if I can.” 

About the time that Mr. Woodruff and his host adjourned 
from the dining to the sitting-room, and were chatting 
together in the most friendly manner around a comfortable 
fire, Miss Du Bois sat by the window of a parlor in an ele- 
gant mansion on the corner of High and Grand streets. 
Occasionally she would look out into the street as though 


ONE CHRISTMAS. 


143 


intensely interested in the great throng of strange people 
that were constantly passing by, then again she would glance 
down at a book which lay before her and seek to become 
aroused in its contents. From this position she advanced 
after a little pause to the opposite side of the room and stood 
for a moment in front of the piano and ran the fingers of her 
right hand carelessly over the keys. 

“ Emily/’ said her aunt, 46 come here, and sit beside me 
please near the fire, I want to talk with you a little. Now, 
Emily,’’ she began half playfully and half in earnest, “your 
old auntie wants to ask you a few plain questions; her pur- 
pose is not to worry or annoy, but to see if she can’t give 
you some real help, that is if you need it. Ever since your 
visit here I have noticed that you have not been the same 
merry, light-hearted girl that you were when you left us. 
And now for all this there must be a reason. Have you not 
at some time within the last two or three years formed the 
acquaintance of a fine, attractive gentleman, and has not that 
acquaintance developed into something more than a mere 
friendship?” 

“Wait auntie,” she said, raising her hand, and with a look 
and a laugh of her old self, “ you have guessed it the first 
time.” And then assuming a more serious mood, she con- 
tinued — 

“ I am so glad that you have spoken to me about it; I have 
been wanting to talk with you all day.” 

She then proceeded to tell her aunt of her first meeting 
with Woodruff and all that followed; how that he had told 
her of his love and the answer she gave him. 

“Well, Emily,” replied her aunt, after a moment of 
thoughtfulness, 44 1 wouldn’t blame you for marrying such a 
man, that is if you loved him, and if your father is^atisfied 
that’s greatly in your favor; for if he is my brother, I must 
say he’s one of the best judges of human nature I ever saw. 
•But you little goose,” she continued, assuming a very mirth- 
ful strain, 44 why hav’nt you told me all this before? Here I 
have been sending you out to parties, and making parties for 
you, and yet you were more than half engaged all the time. 
Why I know a half dozen young men any one of whom 


144 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


would have jumped at the chance of getting you. Suppose 
that one of these would have carried you off, then what 
would have become of your ideal Woodruff?” 

‘‘ They couldn’t have done it, auntie, it takes two to make 
a bargain of that kind, you know.” 

“That’s true, Emily, that's true; and so he’s coming here 
to-night is he? Well, I am glad of it, and I hope that you 
will have a pleasant time both of you. I’ll not be here, you 
know husband and I are going out, but then you can get 
along without us I guess,” she added laughingly. 

Christmas eve in a brilliant city! A thousand lights blazed 
out from the shop windows, and streamed down from the 
interminable line of street lamps that stretched away in the 
distance. Great crowds jostled each other good naturedly 
on the side walks and at crossings, as they hurried to and 
fro, purchasing little mementoes of love for distant friends, 
or loved ones at home. The joys of Christmas have come, 
suft using all faces with a pleasant glow! Yonder, the laugh- 
ter of playful children rings out with the jingling of sleigh 
bells tinkling, tinkling, menily on the frosty air. Here and 
there groups of friends gather for a moment, speaking words 
of pleasant cheer; the old and the young, the rich and the 
poor, the mechanic and the broker hurrying homeward, all 
seem to feel the wild glee of Christmas, and even the beg- 
gar on the corner forgets his rags and dreams he is happy. 

On this memorable eve, there might have been seen mov- 
ing through this happy, thronging crow'd a well dressed 
young man who seemed to be more absorbed in his own 
thoughts than the gay festivities around him. He passed up 
one street and down another, until he came at last to a stately 
old mansion on the corner of Grand and High. 

Here, mounting the steps, Woodruff, for it was he, rang 
the bell and was immediately shown into the parlor. The 
meeting between him and Miss Du Bois was, contrary to 
the expectations of both, somewhat embarrassing at first, , 
and perhaps a little distant. All this, however, was of short 
duration, for in a few moments each quickly gained their 
self composure. The conversation sooned turned from 
friends at home to festivities that then surrounded them, and 


ONE CHRISTMAS. 


145 


from this it quickly glided out upon that theme which more 
or less has touched all hearts and moulded all lives — that of 
love and affection. Again he tells her of his love, and now 
she confesses hers in return. Then they sat down beside 
each other in front of the ruddy fire, and while the Christ- 
mas bells rang out strong and clear, and while the happy 
throngs without hurried to and fro, he breathed to her 
sweeter thoughts than she had ever heard before in all her 
life. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


SUMMER GLORY. 

The long winter at last passed away, and then came the 
spring time, a time of birds and flowers, sunshine and song. 
About the middle of the season two events occurred, to 
which, to carry forward the thread of our story, special refer- 
ence must be made. 

One bright May morning, between the hours of nine and 
ten, Samuel Jackson might have been seen walking leisurely 
along the main street of the town of Bendon in the direction 
of HefFman’s hotel. The course pursued by this man since 
his reformation was such as to meet the approbation not only 
of friends, but even of enemies. His home, which had been 
fast going to ruin for want of attention, was thoroughly 
repaired and now presented a very attractive appearance. 
The sad, wan look upon the face of his wife had given way 
to one of joy and happiness, and even his son was no longer 
laughed at and shunned because his father was a drunkard. 
As soon as it became known that he had entirely abandoned 
the use of strong drink, many of his old clients returned, 
and again sought for his professional services. Somehow, 
and before he was really aware of it, his practice as a lawyer 
had gone on increasing until it demanded his entire time and 
attention. As he passes leisurely along the street bowing 
pleasantly to his friends and neighbors whom he chances to 
meet, he is no longer the sad and pitiable creature that he 
was when first introduced to the reader. That demon which 
for years had held him down had been dethroned, and he 
was once more a man among men. 

On reaching Ileffman’s hotel he turned quickly, passed up 
the steps, and entered the bar-room. 


SUMMER GLORY. 


147 


“Good morning Mr. Heffman,” he said pleasantly. 

“Good morning Jackson,” gruffly replied the landlord, 
“ take a seat, won’t you.” 

“ No, thank you, I hav’nt the time. I have called this 
morning, Mr. Heffman, on a matter of business which I hope 
we will have no difficulty in adjusting. Now, as you are 
aware, the sale of liquor in our town has been prohibited by 
law. Some three months ago I was retained by the temper- 
ance people ' of the place in case that any litigation for the 
enforcement of the excise law became necessary. I have 
evidence in my possession which go to show that you are 
continuing in the sale of liquors without a licence.” 

“Who gave you that information, Sam Jackson?” asked 
the landlord angrily, as he glanced first at the lawyer and 
then into the faces of five or six of his old customers who 
were seated around the room. 

“ That’s not the point under discussion. My visit here is 
not to make trouble, but if possible to prevent it. I have 
called this morning to say to you kindly, but positively, that 
you had better respect the law, instead of violating it, for if 
you ke^p on as you have been doing for the last few months, 
action will be brought against you immediately.” 

“ It’s too bad,” replied Heffman very piteously, as he ad- 
vanced slowly behind the bar, “ that an old citizen of this 
town like myself, can’t furnish a little liquor to respectable 
people now and then, without running the risk of a lawsuit. 
I suppose, though, I’d better submit than to do worse, we’ll 
show you temperance folks though, who’s in the majority 
when the next election comes, see if we don’t.” 

There were terrible denunciations, yes, and fearful curses 
uttered by nearly all who were in the room, as soon as Jack- 
son turned away. 

“ Our liberties are forever gone,” said one. 

“ The whole town will be ruined,” said another. 

“ Let’s not submit to such tyranny,” said a third. • 

“ Keep on selling,” said a fourth, “ and if they fine you 
we’ll help pay out.” 


148 


THE BANE OF BENDON. 


“ No, boys,” replied Heffman more dejected than ever t “ I 
can’t run that risk; you are all my friends, and I know it; 
but it will never do to get in a lawsuit with these temper- 
ance fellows, for the public sentiment is all on their side. 
Besides I know that man Jackson better than you do. I’d 
rather have any lawyer in the country after me than him; 
and when he tells you that he’s got evidence to convict you, 
you may rest certain that he means exactly what he says. 
I’d like to see the old villain drunk once more, and perhaps 
I will some day, and if I do, he’ll not draw a sober breath 
for the next six months, if I can help it.” 

On the day following the above interview there occurred 
another event, which I think will be of some interest to the 
reader, and that was the marriage of Mr. George Woodruff 
and Miss Emily Du Bois. The wedding was to be at the 
church, at two in the afternoon, and long before the hour the 
house was crowded to its utmost capacity. The gallery was 
occupied by the quarry hands and their wives. As they 
were coming along the street together, Murphy admonished 
• them all to behave themselves like gentlemen: 

“ And be sure and quit your nonsense as soon as you get 
to the church, for, sure, it’s not every day that we are* invited 
to a wedding like this, especially when our pay is going on 
as though we were all hard at work.” 

Among the many old friends who gathered there that day 
were quite a number whose names have frequently been 
mentioned in the pages of this narrative — men, and women, 
too, who, under opposition the most fierce and terrible, had 
battled long and hard in the defense of a principle which 
they believed to be right, and who at last were rewarded by 
seeing the right prevail. They were here to congratulate 
the one who had led them in the thickest of the conflict. 

Precisely at the time appointed the bride and groom entered 
the church, and, amid the sweet strains of a wedding march, 
advanced to the altar, behind which stood their old friend 
and pastor, Elder Littleton. Here they repeated the words 
of betrothal, and took each other for husband and wife, in 
the presence of all assembled. Quickly after the prayer and 


SUMMER GLORY. 


149 


the benediction, they passed out through the throng of ad- 
mir’ng friends, stepped into a carriage that was in waiting 
and drove swiftly away. 

And now, kind reader, my story is nearly ended. A few 
more words, and we bid each other adieu. 

As I sit alone, there rises before me a vision of a town, full 
of melodious voices. The inhabitants there are industrious, 
prosperous and happy. No sad, or mockingly joyous men, 
with bloated forms and sunken eyes and heated breath, reel 
through Iter streets; no ragged, wan- faced children, or heart- 
broken women, look piteously into your face and imploringly 
beg for alms, under the plea that father or husband is a 
drunkard; for the inhabitants of that town^as with the voice 
of one man, have declared that no vender of strong drink 
shall be permitted to carry on a traffic which has blighted 
more homes and destroyed more lives than war, pestilence 
and famine combined. 

As I write these closing lines, there rises before me another 
vision. It’s a lovely evening in summer. The rich glow of 
the sinking sun gleams forth from burning clouds, and hills 
in floods on the corn blossoms and waving foliage of the 
forest. The old church tower, seen through the limbs of the 
shady oaks, is a pillow of fire. The undulating hills beyond 
become thrones of burnished gold. Happy scene! Here, in 
the centre of a wide lawn on the outskirts of the town, 
stands a noble mansion, and on the piazza sits, in the declining 
rays of the summer sun, an elderly gentleman and his wife. 
A little child is playing between them, running to and fro in 
pleasant glee from one to the other, and then stopping to 
laugh at her own sport. Yonder, by the edge of the lawn, 
near the walk leading to the street, is the gardener, a little, 
old man, working by a bed of flowers. Presently the child 
sees him, and running down the path, catches him by the 
hand, wheels him quickly around and calls him “ My Martin.” 
He joins with the little one in her childhood play, and it is 
difficult to tell which is the happier. 

In the parlor, by the piano, sits a lady, and by her side 
stands her husband. 


150 


THE BANE OF BEN DON. 


“What shall I sing?” she asks, as she looks up lovingly 
into his face. 

“ Sing,” says he, “ the song that’s dear to us both — the one 
that never grows old.” 

She runs her fingers lightly over the keys, and then, in 
sweetest strains, begins: 

“ I shot an arrow in the air.” 

The low% sw r eet tones of that melody float out and away on 
the evening air; the shadows grow deeper; voices die away 
in the distance; fainter and fainter grow r s the vision, and 
when I look again it has — vanished. 


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